


Agent Nine

by hypnoscissorsghostnerd



Series: Agent Nine Series [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adoption, Dad Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Gay Dad is Best Dad, Love Triangles, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-05-07 18:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 36,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19215523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoscissorsghostnerd/pseuds/hypnoscissorsghostnerd
Summary: Jack Morrison rescues a young girl with an uncanny ability to run at incredibly high speeds after this SEP sector uses her for enhancement testing by adopting her.Now, she’s an adult who grew into an amazing soldier. But when she rejoins the American branch to be reunited with her father, two men pine for her attention. They have to get by Morrison first.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Want extras? Wanna request stuff? Go check out my Tumblr @hypnoscissorsghostnerd ! ٩( ᐛ )و

Jack Morrison was the only one in the entire sector that was uneasy about it all.

Just before his thirtieth birthday, his SEP sector dragged in a little girl no older than six; hair buzzed, bags under her eyes, but wore clean, ironed white scrubs. It was rumored that their new injections to give everyone the ability to run faster came from this single, tiny, fragile source.

He did, however, see improvements. Him and the rest of his sector ran faster. Their agility increased as their cardiovascular endurance. But knowing what they were doing to the poor little girl didn’t sit well in his stomach.

He found her in her own little wing in the sector. Her room’s walls were made of glass. It was so stark white that it was nearly blinding to walk into her wing.

It was a pathetic room for a little girl. She has a white mattress with a white sheet. A holographic TV played educational kid shows but she was preoccupied with playing with crayons as she drew on the floor instead of the stack of white papers next to her. She had no pillows. No teddy bear to cuddle at night. No toys but the red, green, and yellow crayons that have been broken so many times that she had to hold each piece with her tiny fist. Her only company was the camera embedded in the top corner of her glass room.

He watched her with an odd sense of fascination. Her brows were furrowed as though she were calculating the solution to world peace. What caught his attention the most was that she was able to draw with either hand comfortably as though she could not decide which hand was dominant.

Months passed and Jack found himself visiting the girl often. She didn’t look up at him at first; a habit she had developed from becoming accustomed to being studied all the time. She didn’t respond to words or noises. It was only when he found an old chalk marker that he discovered that she would respond.

Though separated by bulletproof glass, Jack was able to feel closer to her than before. He would draw her flowers and dogs that looked more like hot dogs with eyes. She would draw on her side of the glass with her small collection of crayons. It was faded and hard to see, but he admitted that the toddler was already a better artist than himself.

One day, he overheard that the serum had been perfected and there was no use for the girl anymore. Rehoming the child would be too much of a hassle and they have agreed to leave her at a national park in hopes of someone picking her up.

He visited the girl that night and knocks on the glass. She wakes up from her flimsy bed and her eyes light up at the sight of him. Her hair hasn’t been cut in a week and he could see a small curl forming on her forehead. How cute she would be if her baby hair fully grew out.

She scuffles to the wall as he sits where he usually sits. When he doesn’t pull out a chalk marker, she furrows her brows in confusion and presses her finger to the glass, pretending to draw. Jack shakes his head.

“Not today, sweetie,” he whispers, knowing she could only see his lips move and nothing more.

He thinks long and hard as the toddler grew impatient, got her crayons, and began doodling by herself. He watches her until it finally dawns on him:

“You’re coming back Indiana with me,” he says confidently. She doesn’t hear him and keeps drawing.

“You’ll have an actual room,” he smiles, envisioning her playing in her own room. “You’ll get toys. I’ll make you food every day. We can grill together.”

His voice cracks.

Was this his destiny? To suddenly be a soldier and a father?

But as they make eye contact, he places his hand on the glass. The girl grins and places her hand on the glass where his pressed. He could almost feel her tiny hand against his own through the thick glass.

After that, all doubt faded from his heart.


	2. 20 Years and Counting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You decide to return to America per your father’s request. You comply, wanting to be closer to family. There, you meet your new team and see some familiar faces.

After a 14-hour shift, the last thing you expected was an urgent email from Jack Morrison.

Stationed in a humid building in Germany, you sip on a Nano Cola as you boot up your computer. The boring Overwatch background blinked before opening up your mail. How important does it have to be that he couldn’t just call you?

It was a formal email requesting your transfer back to America. They’re apparently short-handed on Talon experts. Perhaps he just missed you. You huff a laugh as you toss back the fizzy beverage. You choke on the carbonation. One of your colleagues behind you laughs at you.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” you mutter as you begin to type a response.

* * *

You slept on the jet but the flight felt too short as you groggily clamber out of the vehicle.

There is a small charge waiting for your arrival, the infamous Soldier:76 standing at attention in the hangar. You wished you didn’t look like you hadn’t slept in months as you made eye contact with the small crew.

You recognized the few faces that waited for your arrival. You grinned and gave a wave as you stumble clumsily out of the jet.

Angela Ziegler, Ana Amari, your old babysitter Fareeha Amari, and the gentle giant Reinhardt Wilhelm all stood with smiles on their faces.

You are barraged with “welcome backs” and hugs, the most painful embrace coming from Reinhardt. The only one who did not approach you was Morrison. You raise a brow and open your arms toward him.

“Come on,” you try to coax. “I know you missed me.”

Piercing blue eyes stare back at you, thinking for a moment before giving you a nod instead of the embrace you asked for.

“Welcome back, Agent 9,” was your cold response. You frown as he turned to wave you in. “Meet me in my office in five.”

You and your small group of old colleagues watch the man turn to get his office ready for you. You sigh and drops your arms to your hips.

“Lovely,” you sigh.

“He has been pacing all morning waiting for your arrival,” Ana chuckles. She places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “He missed you. Do not let him fool you.”

“I know,” you smile and place your hand on top of hers.

“Welcome back,” Angela says again with a gentle nod. “We should get back to work, but please, come by and say hello when you are available.”

“I’ll stop by after I see him,” you give a courteous nod in return.

Fighting the urge to run through the halls, you consciously count your steps to make sure you were walking at a modest pace to Morrison’s office. You were briefly lost for being so focused on counting your steps, but the plaque on the door told you when you were at the right spot.

Upon entering, Morrison shot to his feet. You click the door behind you slowly, staring at him with a surprised expression. When it latches, Morrison finally approaches you with a much more relaxed expression. He pulls you into an embrace and you don’t hesitate to hold him back.

“I thought you were going to deny the request,” he admits as he pulls away.

“And miss the opportunity to work with the coolest dad on the planet?” you scoff. “I’d be crazy.”

Morrison sits back down at his desk and you follow, plopping down in one of the chairs across from him. He smiles, leaning on his forearms.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Short,” you reply, fighting the urge to yawn. “But I’ve had a lot of caffeine so I should be okay.”

“Staying away from pop, I hope.”

You hesitate to reply.

“Yes?” Your voice squeaks. Morrison sighs heavily.

“Just limit the amount of pop you drink,” he chastised. You give him a shrug.

“There’s an open bunk in the dorms,” he says and slides a piece of paper with the room number and PIN number. “We also have a couple recruits here you haven’t met before. We’re having a small training session this afternoon and they’ll all be there. You should stop by and meet them.”

“Or do you just want me to stop by so you can show off your commanding skills?” You guess.

He doesn’t answer; that usually means yes. You laugh and stand to lean over his desk. You plant a quick kiss at the top of his white hair before leaving the office.

Again, you counted your steps to make sure you weren’t running in the hallways before finding your room at the far wall of the dorms. It didn’t look like you had neighbors. You enter the pin and it’s almost identical to the room you had in Germany; small, full bathroom, a mini fridge for water (or in your case, more pop), a drawer, a nightstand, and a twin-size bed. The only difference was that this window was much larger.

You glance at your phone to check the time; you had about an hour to kill before the training session started. You decided to see Angela first.

Luckily for you, her office was slow and she only had one female patient sitting on the doctor’s table. You lightly rap on the door and both the patient and Angela look up. She happily chirped your name and waved you in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” you apologize.

“I’m good, love!” the patient waves. Her pleasant accent catches you off-guard. “You a new recruit?”

“Lena, this is actually our transfer agent,” Angela introduces the two of you. She looks at you with a nod. “This is Lena Oxton. You two are about the same age.”

“Wow!” Lena grins at you. “Nice to meet a fellow younger member!”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile back. Her energy was making your heart race. It made you want to go on a run.

“Are you going to the training sesh today?” Lena asks as Angela continued to indulge herself at the computer. 

“I may stop in,” you admit.

“We are almost done here,” Angela speaks up as she continues to type, enunciating the vowels. “Lena, would you like to walk her to the training facility? I have more paperwork to do.”

“Of course!” Lena leaps herself down from the table and picks up what looked like a backpack. She straps the contraption over her chest and she sees you staring.

“It’s a chrono-accelerator,” she explains. “I can tell you more about it as we go to training!”

* * *

During the short time it took to go to the locker room on the other side of the building, you learned of her time illness and how her accelerator helps her control it to her advantage she calls “blinks”. You learned of her girlfriend, Emily, and how they have a “flat” together.

You found a locker with an extra training two-piece and tugged it on. Unfortunately, it ran a little small but not too small that it limited your movement. Lena whistles at you and feel yourself blush.

You leave together to the facility where there was already a small group waiting for Morrison to lead them.

Two men, a green omnic, and Fareeha were waiting in their own training uniforms.

“Lena,” Fareeha waves the two of you to her. Fareeha gives you a nod in greeting and you smile back.

“Hi,” you wave at the strangers. “I’m the new transfer.”

“Transfer,” the taller man drawls. The southern accent sent an exciting shiver down your back. “I’m Jesse McCree.”

“I am Genji,” the omic man says. “Cyborg ninja, at your service.”

You’re glad you didn’t say anything about having an omnic on the team.

The last man was a little shorter but he was well-built under his uniform. He seemed unhappy to be wearing it.

“The quiet one is Hanzo,” McCree chuckles. “He ain’t the type to talk too much.”

Hanzo looked offended. His brows furrowed and his lips parted for a rebuttal, but was interrupted.

“Attention, Agents!” Morrison’s voice snaps. Everyone but you stands at attention. Your back is still facing him.

“Agent,” you hear him point his voice at you. You see Fareeha give you a scowl. You sigh and lazily turn around.

“You haven’t changed,” Fareeha mutters.

“Now,” Morrison speaks loudly. His age is apparent in his gruff tone. “Today we’re going to deal with some close proximity combat. Behind me I’ve drawn a circle six feet in diameter on the floor. You are to push your opponent out of the ring or have them yield. If you step out, you’re out.”

“Redundant,” you huff. Morrison raises a brow but you ignore him.

“Genji,” Morrison calls. The cyborg man you had mistaken as an omic steps into the ring. Then, much to your dismay, his finger points at you.

“Why me?” you whine.

“Because you complained,” he retorted. “Now step up, soldier.”

You stick out your tongue in a raspberry. Lena stifles a giggle at your childish antics. You watch your father’s eye twitch: a tic for when he was annoyed but was trying to uphold a professional face.

Genji offers you a small courteous bow of his head before Morrison steps forward to referee. He placed a flat palm between you two and your opponent. Genji lowers his stance as you shook your arms to relax them.

“Abilities okay?” You ask permission.

“Granted,” your father replies. “However, weapons are forbidden.”

There was another pause before he lifts his hand.

Time stopped as you leap forward. Genji was still in his stance as you walk behind him and cozily wrap your arms around his neck in a headlock. You kick his knee in and it slightly buckles.

That moment, time seemed to resume as Genji yelps in surprise as he falls to one knee, tapping your arm as you squeeze his throat with your forearm, his metallic head pressing against your chest from the pressure. He could feel heat rise to his cheeks and was grateful you couldn’t see.

You hear shocked murmurs arise behind you as Genji throws you over his shoulder. Using only about thirty percent your ability, you were able to quickly throw your feet down and regain your balance, all the while turning Genji over. His back thudded hard against the floor. He lifts his head, only to see that his lower legs were thrown out of bounds.

“Good job, Agent,” you hear Morrison praise you.

You hop on your feet with a grin and offer a hand to the startled cyborg. You help him up as he exhales deeply.

“How did you do that?” Lena whispers to you as you like back up.

You proudly grin and look up at Morrison. He glances your way just in time to make eye contact. He was holding back a smile but his eyes showed pride. You couldn’t help but feed off of that.

“Celerity,” Morrison announces. “The ability to maneuver your body aerobatically and in velocity. You may encounter someone with an advantage like this, doesn’t mean you have to let your guard down and be easily defeated.”

You turn your head to look at the rest of the line. Genji is rubbing his neck as Hanzō seemed to be scolding him. Fareeha bit back a smile. Lena was grinning at seeing the ninja fall so quickly.

However, it was the pair of dark brown eyes and a smirk hiding behind a scraggly beard that caught your attention. You make eye contact with McCree who didn’t look away. Instead, his smile grew wider. You felt your cheeks go pink but blamed it on the fight.


	3. Run Boy Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re sent on your first mission with McCree and Morrison. Things get awry.

_Jack was nearing the end of his third week of paternity leave when Vincent came over after a distressed phone call from Jack. He brought a case of booze and movie they could snuggle up to._

_“What’s really bothering you?” Vincent asked after a couple drinks._

_Jack slumps over with his drink in hand. He sighs heavily before looking over his shoulder to make sure no little ears were listening in. He whispers her name to make sure there was no scuttling or response. When he was convinced they were alone, he continued._

_“I don’t want her to think I’m just her caretaker,” he admits. “I want her to feel comfortable enough to think I’m family.”_

_“Well,” Vincent says thoughtfully, looping an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “She only knows about people who tested on her. The guards who fed her every day changed shifts. She’ll grow on you. I promise.”_

_Jack seem to absorb his words and gave him a grateful smile._

_“Thanks,” he says quietly._

_“Don’t mention it,” Vincent mutters seductively. “Now why don’t we get your mind off things?”_

_Jack sighs happily as Vincent’s lips gently pressed his neck over and over again. He knew exactly where to nip as his hand roamed down his chest and toward his swelling crotch._

_The small pitter-patter of feet forced Jack to reluctantly push him away. Vincent looked frustrated and confused until a small figure came into view._

_The little girl holds up a piece of paper with three figures crudely drawn on with crayons. Two tall figures, one with brown hair and one with yellow hair, each stood next to a small little stick that resembled her hair._

_She places the drawing in Jack’s lap and points at the brown-haired stick figure. It was messy, but he could guess who it was._

_“Vinny,” she says with pride. Vincent grins._

_She points at the short figure and said her own name Jack had given her with confidence. Hearing her say the name he chose for her made his heart swell._

_Then, she points at the yellow-haired stick figure. He waited for a curt “Jack” or “Mowwyson”._

_“Daddy.”_

_His heart skipped a beat. He could’ve sworn it leapt to his throat and got caught. Vincent looks over at Jack with wide eyes. He swallowed hard._

_“What did you say, sweetheart?” He manages to choke out._

_He watches her tap the crude drawing of the yellow-haired stick figure again._

_“Daddy,” she says with such innocence, such ease, that he could’ve sworn she’s called him that all her life._

_Without thinking, Jack leans over and scoops her into his arms. She smells like the blueberry bubble bath that he had drawn for her an hour prior. His tears rolled hot and quick down his cheeks. He could feel Vincent’s smile as he leans against his back in an embrace, both so happy for her._

_“Yes, I am,” he says reassuringly, more to himself than her._

_I am your dad.  
_

* * *

A phone call from Angela woke you from your deep sleep. Still a little jet lagged, you answer groggily. She chirps your name like it wasn’t 3am for your body.

“We need to perform a quick physical before we send you off on your mission tonight,” she quirks. You groan and look at the clock. It was much later than you expected.

“When is your next opening?” You ask.

“In an hour,” Angela’s smile is heard through the phone.

You hang up with a sigh before climbing out of bed. You lazily get dressed in a sports bra, a plain T-shirt, and black sweatpants. Comfortable, yet somehow appropriate.

You decide go grab breakfast in the lounge to see McCree smashing on some junk food while Genji sat across from him with a bored body language of being slumped over. You give him a nod as Genji sits up. He must’ve said something because McCree looks your way, too. You could’ve sworn you saw a light dust of pink spread across his cheeks.

Nah, you were just tired from your trip. There’s no way a playboy-looking cowboy like himself would blush over someone wearing borderline lazy pajamas. Perhaps he was embarrassed to see you this way. That would make more sense.

You settle on a measly breakfast of an apple and coffee. You still feel the boys’ eyes on you as you walk by. You ignore it; they’re probably upset you defeated Genji easily.

You crunch on the apple as you made your way to Angela’s office, tossing the core in a nearby trash can as you entered.

Angela looks up from her computer with a smile. She stands and motions for you to sit at the table. You plop yourself up as Angela prepares her equipment.

“How are you feeling today?” she asks gently, motioning at your shirt.

You tug your shirt over your head as she presses a stethoscope to your back. You try to breathe normally, but you nearly gasp from how cold the item was. You patiently wait for her to pull away before answering.

“I’m still a little tired from the flight,” you admit. You watch her strap a blood pressure cuff on your arm as the machine automatically begins to take your pressure.

“That is expected for a couple days,” she agrees. “I see you are settling in very well.”

For some reason, this sent a blush to your cheeks. Angela notices and chuckles. You try to play it off but you were still attached to the blood pressure machine. It has to take it again from the sudden spike.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huff childishly.

“Angela,” a deep voice calls from outside.

Without knocking, the door to her office latches open. You were suddenly grateful for choosing a sports bra rather than being nude under your shirt.

Hanzo steps in and he’s frozen to the spot. You make eye contact with him only to feel a wave of excitement and embarrassment. You couldn’t figure out why you shudder when you did.

“Oh, e-excuse me,” he stammers. You watch with an unamused raised brow as his face flushes.

“Knock next time,” Angela chastises.

She pushes Hanzo gently out the door as the man continues to mutter incoherent apologies. This time, as the door latches, she locks it. She turns to you with a worried expression.

“I’m really sorry about that,” she shakes her head. “The men around here think they can do whatever they want and get away with it.”

She picks up a tablet and begins to write on it with her finger.

“Shall we continue?” She smiles. “I believe we should get this done before your ship takes off tonight.”

* * *

McCree avoided looking in your direction in the small drop ship you were crowded in. He mainly played on his phone as you boredly played with a deck of cards on the pool table in the back.

Looking down at the rather empty jet was almost a humorous sight. Here you were, armed in your maroon suit similar to your father’s old commander’s armor, but much slimmer. You always likes how his coat flew behind him when he ran, so when it was your turn to design your uniform, you adopted that look.

McCree himself looked silly with the outdated cowboy look. He had his large six-shooter at his hip and his spurs clanking against the floor as his leg bobbed up-and-down out of either boredom or by habit, you weren’t sure.

Morrison sat in the cockpit, overlooking all of the stats and repeating the mission statement for the fifth time. He looked so unprofessional in his large blue jacket. It made him look like a wannabe biker. You had to stifle a grin.

“This is a quick sting,” he repeats. “I will go first. Take out any hostiles and watch for civvies. This is not a recon mission, you understand? We go in, take out their hideout, go home.”

“Yes sir,” you drawl out lazily. You could feel his glare from the front.

You stand and run to appear behind him. He’s used to your antics and is not startled to your sudden appearance. You’re disappointed, but you take the empty copilot seat.

“Are we there yet?” you ask.

“Agent, I suggest you return to your seat or find something better to do,” he commands.

You roll your eyes and sigh heavily. You look at the map to see that the destination was no more than thirty minutes.

“I could’ve ran there faster,” you mutter.

“That’s a waste of energy,” he rebukes.

Morrison doesn’t even look your way as you stick your tongue out at him. Defeated, you get up with a groan and pace your way back to your seat.

It seemed like forever until you finally arrived, sitting in awkward silence.

-

It was chaos as soon as you arrived. The hideout was armed to the teeth with just as many people defending it. You had your dual plasma pistols and sped your way through, but having to make sure your two teammates were with you made it difficult to take this your own pace.

During all the chaos, you didn’t see that McCree was watching you again. He managed to grab your arm and drag you down even as you were about to run in a sprint to avoid stepping on a trip wire.

You landed with a heavy thud on your back. McCree has his body hovering over your as you look up to a scrunched expression. You couldn’t help but feel yourself flush in the moment. You shove him off of you out of your own embarrassment as gunfire spits around your bodies.

“I have this,” you snap defensively.

“Gotta let me watch your back,” he winks. “And with pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his weak attempt of flirting right in the middle of battle. When the rounds died off, you leapt to your feet in a sprint.

You followed the slowly-moving bullets to the shooters. There were three men stationed ahead, one of which was about to finish reloading. You see the first man’s gun was just about to fire again, the kickback locking into his arm. You move his arms so that the butt of his gun was in his face.

“Don’t hit yourself,” you warn.

You push the reloading man so that his body would be wedged between the wall and the other two men. The last man you simply took out his bullets and gave him his gun back. Before you leave, you offer a swift kick to his groin.

“You’ll feel that in just a second,” you pat his back.

You step away a good few yards but with a decent view of your work unfold.

Just as you had planned, the butt of the rifle kicked back and knocked the first man in the face. He falls on his back. Simultaneously, the man whose crotch you kicked and the other who you pushed fall down, wedging themselves in each other and their poorly chosen cover location.

You didn’t have time to laugh as you see Morrison run past you.

“Keep pushing, soldier!” he barks into your headset.

You break out in a light jog to keep up with him. Running side-by-side like this brought back fond memories.

“You missed the fun part,” you say.

“You have two guns,” Morrison retorts. “Use them. This is no time for games!”

“You’re no fun,” you mutter. “Where’s McCree?”

There’s an odd pause as you both leap over a fallen beam.

“Covering our flank,” he replies. “Scout ahead to see how many more there are and see if there’s another exit.”

“Copy,” you reply in a sing-song tone.

You run ahead only to see a large empty room. You look around, throwing up your arms in confusion.

“Morrison, there isn’t anyone else here,” you say.

He catches up to you just in time to see what you were talking about. He’s barely panting, but you could tell the sprinting didn’t age as well as he did.

“Maybe we missed a hidden turn,” you try to guess.

“We should go back—” he starts. He turns his head toward you only to pause. The mask made it hard to read his expression.

“And go back where?” you narrow your eyes, trying to read him.

“Down!” He barks.

“What?”

Before you could react, Morrison leaps himself in front of you and launches his rockets. There’s a flash of an explosion and you’re forced to cover your eyes.

When the moment passes, you rubbed your eyes and cough out the taste of gunpowder.

“You didn’t have to fire that off so close to me,” you snap.

But what stood before you changed your mood quickly.

The rockets hit an unidentifiable man, torn apart and dead from Morrison’s counterattack. However, there was a large sword piercing through the back of the 76 jacket. You watch for the first time the super soldier fall to his knees, dropping his pulse rifle in a heavy thud.

“No,” you could only gasp. “No.”

You expected him to stand up. You expected him to turn out and tell you that he’s okay, that it barely missed him.

But his large body teetered backwards; he was going to fall.

_“Dad!”_

You leap forward in time to catch him in your arms. You touch the handle of the sword but thought better of it in fear of causing him to bleed out. You forcibly take off his mask to see his eyes glazed over. He didn’t make a sound in pain as he tries to focus in on you.

McCree was holding his right cheek as he finally jogged into the scene. His face was swollen and there’s a cut from what looked like a blunt hit. At first, he wasn’t sure if he heard you right until you looked up at him with such pain in your eyes. He has never felt his heart drop than it did right there.

“Stay with me,” you choke back the tears.

His lips move to form words. You could hear a wisp of a voice. McCree turns his back to keep an eye out, his gun at the ready. You bite your cheek hard to prevent any tears from spilling. Morrison would never let you live that down if you cried on the mission.

“Stay with me, Dad,” you murmur.

Morrison reaches up and pulls a hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear. His lips move again. You quickly lean forward to catch it this time.

_“I never left.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was over 2400 words! I think that’s a new record for me!


	4. Subpar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make a deal with an archer to improve your skills.

You’re told you made it back to the base on time to give Morrison the treatment he needs to recover. This sense of relief was immediately taken over by the sense of fault and responsibility; if you had noticed sooner, if you hadn’t let your guard down, this would not have happened.

It was going onto day three of Morrison resting up in the hospital wing when he finally woke up.

He looked down to see a mop of your hair completely covering his arm. His hand was asleep from you clutching it in your own rest. He hesitates for a moment, debating if he should remove his hand in risk of waking you up. Instead, he places his free hand on the back of your head and pulled your hair back in a sad attempt to stroke your hair. You stayed asleep, however, and he sighs.

“Dad, huh?”

Morrison looked up to see McCree leaning up against the door. His cheek had almost fully recovered. There was still a slight swelling and the skin was discolored around the eye, but for the most part, it was a minor wound.

“What of it,” Morrison growls, careful to keep his voice low.

McCree shrugs as he steps into the room. He stands behind your sleeping form and watches you snooze on the old man’s arm before looking back up to make eye contact with the old soldier.

“That’s why you’re bullyin’ me to keep away from her,” he says. “Why you ain’t say nothin’ that you got family?”

“It’s none of your business and I’d hit you right now if I could.”

“You hit me in combat. With your rifle. ‘Member? Caused me to fall behind and you ended up here?”

“And I’d do it again.”

McCree raises his arms in surrender. He shakes his head, showing that he wasn’t here to create a hostile environment.

“So I want to do this right,” the cowboy continues with a deep exhale, fighting back his agitation. “I may as well ask now, actually. I’ve never seen you so calm before.”

Morrison narrows his eyes at him. McCree walks to the other side of the bed and kneels beside him. Morrison jerks his arm away from him when he got too close. You stir and he freezes, but luckily, you’re still asleep.

“I want your permission then to take her out for an afternoon,” he says boldly.

The old soldier gives him such a glare that he could almost feel his hatred behind them, but McCree doesn’t back down. He swallows hard, but he keeps his eye contact firm with his.

“I’m injured and you come to me for this?” Morrison has to fight hard to keep his voice down. His heart monitor beeps a warning as his blood pressure spikes. “Taking advantage of the situation?”

“So is that a yes?” McCree gives a hopeful smile.

“Get out.”

* * *

You were laying on your bedroom floor, debating on what went wrong during the mission. The shades were closed and the lights were off. The only light shining was the afternoon sun fighting through the cracks of your shades.

Sure, your dad was going to make a full recovery with a couple weeks of physical therapy, but it wasn’t something Angela and her team couldn’t handle. For that, you were grateful. But you knew it was your fault.

He was right. You should’ve used your pistols.

But no matter how hard you tried, unless you were up close, your marksmanship was subpar at best. It was just easier to cover up your lack of skill with silly antics and watching your enemies fall by their own hand rather than doing the dirty work yourself. It also gave you a nice laugh, so that didn’t hurt, right?

Morrison couldn’t know that your marksmanship was horrible. He can’t know that you were mainly stuck with paperwork and recon missions in Germany because you nearly cost a mission once from a bad shot. He can’t know you weren’t as good as he thought you were.

_It’s your fault. It’s always your fault._

As though your thoughts were being answered, you heard arguing outside your door.

“I will not,” Hanzo’s accented voice leaked in.

“I’m sure she won’t mind helping ya!” Lena’s voice chimes.

You leap to your feet and look out the peephole of your door. Sure enough, the pair were standing at your door. Lena seemed to be pushing him to knock.

You open your door to see Hanzo’s eyes widen, startled, as Lena gives you a surprised grin.

“Told ya she was in her room,” she says triumphantly.

“You are an annoyance,” Hanzo growls.

“And you are creepily standing in front of my room,” you join.

The two stare at you for a moment before Lena gives Hanzo a jab in the side. Hanzo grunts and gives her a glare before you tilt your head, encouraging him to speak.

“I was wanting to inquire about your hand-to-hand combat skills,” he finally says. You could see his eyes dart away from yours, staring at something behind you. If he was nervous, you didn’t catch it.

Wait. This was perfect.

“I can teach you some counters against someone like me,” you say. His eyes finally snap back to yours and Lena looks excited behind him. “Under one condition.”

Hanzo’s shoulders slump slightly. He sighs.

“There is always a condition,” he grumbles.

“Teach me marksmanship,” you say. “But tell anyone and I’ll tell Genji you came to me for combat help.”

This got his attention. His cheeks flushed with anger as he puffed himself up with agitation and false pride. You failed to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“Then we shall start your lesson first,” he finally says, surprising you. Lena shrugs as you look at her for support.

“Come,” he says and turns sharply. “We are starting now. That way we do not waste time honing skills and improve my skills.”

“How kind,” you sigh sarcastically.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Lena whistles. You look at her with a confused expression, but the girl simply winks with a thumbs up before walking in the opposite direction.

You look down at your outfit of still being in lazy sweatpants and a tank top. When you look down the hall, Hanzo was already making his first turn to the training room. He wasn’t going to wait for you, he made that clear.

“Dick,” you mutter before jogging down to catch up with him.

Within a fraction of a second, you appear by his side. He jumped slightly and you hear him mutter something in Japanese.

“Do not do that,” he nearly growls. You over exaggerate a pout as he continues his fast trek down the halls.

By the time you arrive at the training room, Hanzo was irritated with you though you didn’t try anything else to annoy him. He starts setting up a target and leaves briefly to get his bow and a training bow.

While you waited, you set up the other twelve targets and found the quiver of arrows. He returns with a regular black compact bow along with his own fancier weapon. You reach out for his, but he turns his body sharply to avoid letting you touch it.

“Are you sensitive about someone touching your bow?” you tease.

Hanzo’s head snaps back like he misheard you. The slight blush on his cheeks proved your point.

“Your _bow_ ,” you carefully reiterate.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he shakes his head dismissively.

He stands beside you and takes his stance. You watch, mesmerized, as his arms ripple pulling the taut string back. His stance was so perfect, so straight. You had to force your eyes on his hands rather than his shoulders and rounded chest.

_Why did his gi have to be so revealing?_

He shoots and, of course, the arrow hits the middle of the target. He hands you the black training compact bow.

“Try,” he demands.

You huff out of defiance before taking your stance exactly where he was. You raise your arms and align your body exactly as he did. You release your arrow to see it barely hit the outer ring of the target. Your brow twitches; Hanzo sighs behind you.

“You are tense,” he instructs. “Relax your shoulders. Keep your elbows in.”

With this new advice in mind, you take your position again. You shoot, this time the arrow landing on the outer ring. It is still not a good shot, but at least it’s solid on the target. You groan loudly, throwing your arms down in irritation.

You try for the third time. Your arm is shaking already from straining against the bow. Your heart is racing from your frustration.

“Again,” Hanzo commands.

You groan and shoot. This time, you miss completely. You want to throw down the bow.

“This is pointless!” You exclaim.

“That was merely your third try,” he says. He sounds calmer now. It was eerie to hear him lower his tone.

You try again. You take your stance. Elbows in. Shoulders squared. What were you doing wrong?

Before you could release your fourth arrow, a large hand clamps each of your shoulders. They press down, forcing you to lower your shoulders.

“I told you, you are too tense,” Hanzo chastises, but his voice is much lower.

He’s standing so close behind you, you’re distracted by the amount of heat radiating off of his body. You try not to flinch as you feel his hands remove themselves to your shoulder and hold your elbows. He fixes your positioning. He then takes your hips and shifts them to square hour body to the target. When he lets go, you automatically feel more powerful in this new stance.

“Aim with your nose,” he says as he takes a step back.

You follow his words.

“Breathe,” he reminds.

You inhale deeply, ready to take the shot.

_Please. Please let this one hit home._

“The hell’s goin’ on here?” a voice boomed.

“Ah!” A yelp rips out of your throat as the arrow slips from your finger.

You watch it with disappointment as it flies over the target and strikes the wall behind it. It bounces off the metal and lands on the floor with a loud clank. You look over your shoulder at Hanzo who looked more annoyed than you. Finally, your eyes dart to the source of the yell.

McCree stood at the entrance with crossed arms, shooting a glare at Hanzo much less paying attention to you.

“Training,” you retort. “That you interrupted.”

McCree observes the situation as his eyes dart between you, the bow, and the archer standing behind you. He walks up to stand next to you and looks at your pathetic shots with one arrow in the middle where Hanzo had set an example. You feel yourself flush with embarrassment.

“You know what you’re doin’,” McCree growls. You swallow hard and take a step back; he wasn’t aiming his words at you.

“I uh,” you speak up, trying to diffuse the situation. “I asked.”

McCree then glanced down at you skeptically. He raises a brow, his lips turning down in a scowl. His scruff needed trimmed. You fought back the urge to tell him to fix it.

“W-well,” you stammer. You were about to tell him the truth until you saw Hanzo’s deadly glare in your peripherals. This made your jaws clamp shit.

“I needed help with marksmanship,” you admit to save his face. You also felt threatened.

“Marksmanship,” McCree echoes. He chuckles. “You know, darlin’, you could’a just asked me. I’m the sharpshooter here.”

He winks with his last sentence. Your eyes dart to your feet, unsure how to respond. Your grip is tight on your compact bow.

To your surprise, Hanzo steps between your form as McCree’s. He is a little shorter than the cowboy, but his broad shoulders made him seem a lot larger.

“You have interrupted her,” Hanzo stares him down. “I request you leave before she messes up any more.”

“Hey!” You snap. “I’m standing right here.”

McCree seems busy having this awkward stare down with the archer before shaking his head. He turns to you and his expression immediately changes. He offers you a charming smile.

“If you want to see results, you know where to find me,” he says smoothly.

He tips his hat to you, gives Hanzo another defying glare, and turns to leave. You watch him completely disappear past the doors to the facility before feeling the tension fade from the air. You turn back to your trainer of the day with a hesitant grin.

“Shall we just skip to the combat part?” You try to ease his tension.

Hanzo’s shoulders were still squared and doesn’t turn to look at you. He waits another moment and you don’t have the courage to say anything else. Finally, he barely turns his head so you can hear him better.

“We are done for today,” he says dismissively and speeds away.

Your brows furrowed. Is he really going to let some sleazy cowboy ruin your training session? Especially when he was the one who came to you for help?

You run in front of him to stop him. The man jolts in an attempt to halt quickly to avoid colliding into you. You stare up at him with a bold expression.

“We are not done until I say so,” you boldly demand. “You’ve been pushing me around all afternoon. Now it’s my turn to push you around a bit!”

With the word “push”, you place a hand on his chest and give him a shove. He barely moves but it was enough to antagonize him.

It doesn’t work as he keeps walking past you.

“I’ll change your mind!” You call out after him, but his shadow disappears and you wonder if he even heard you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update may take a hot second. I watched a lot of Captain America and I’m on a Steve Rogers streak ε-(´∀｀; ) Gotta calm down before I go back to this biz *fans self* _(y’all that wood-chopping scene got me.)_


	5. “Sharpshooter”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You come up with a plan to cover your lack of sharpshooting skills.

_Child Services warned Jack about adopting a child like her. At first, he thought they meant her abilities. It was hard to adjust to, sure, but when he realized that running with her tuckered her out, it was easier to manage._

_What he didn’t think of was the psychological damage SEP had caused her when she was being tested day in and day out._

_The girl wouldn’t sleep. She would cry all night and fear the dark. She would sleep throughout the day but he often found her whimpering in her sleep. Therapy was an option, but for a small child, how much could it really do?_

_It got so bad that Jack was getting snappy on Vincent and was able to fall asleep at the grocery store while grabbing some bread. His sleep schedule was so far off he was sure returning to work would be a living hell._

_One morning, at around two, he heard the cries. Almost instinctively, he was already on his feet and braved the cold hardwood floors in just his sweatpants. Down the hall ten paces and to the left three paces. It was muscle memory now._

_The crying quiets down into scared whimpers as he opens her door. The nightlight that settled next to her bed was almost blinding for his tired eyes. He could hear her sniffle as he leaned forward._

_“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He soothes as he leans onto the bed and scoops her into his arms. She buries her face into his chest, her little body jolting from hiccups. He rubs her back, trying to calm her down. His eyes drooped; Perhaps he would sleep here tonight._

_“Chocolate,” she requests._

_“Chocolate?” Jack chuckles. “It’s too early for that.”_

_When she simply falls silent, Jack reconsiders as her body jolts again from another hiccup. He sighs and picks her up. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and rests her head in the crook of his neck. He leans his head up against hers as he takes her to the kitchen where he turns on the lights and shifted her so that she was propped on one hip._

_He simmered some milk in a pot with one hand before handing her a chocolate bar to allow her to plop pieces in as he stirred—just as they had practiced._

_He pours her and himself a mug before placing her down on the kitchen counter. He sips at his hot chocolate as she tries to chug it like an alcoholic. She winced from the heat before trying again._

_“Talk to me,” he says gently. “It’s okay here.”_

_He watches his daughter think about it for a moment. She licks her lips, only spreading the chocolate further up her face. He would have to wash her face...again._

_“The people in coats,” she started slowly. “They said I wasn’t allowed to see you.”_

_“You’re allowed to see me anytime you want,” he reassures._

_“They said I can’t go home,” she continues._

_“You’re home now,” he smiles._

_“They hurt me again.”_

_“I will never let them hurt you again.”_

_They go back-and-forth until the hot chocolate was gone and she fell asleep in his arms on his way back to drop her off into bed. He tucks her in before kissing her little hand._

_This was much better than any therapy session money could buy._

* * *

Your door slammed open at ten-o’clock in the morning. You jolted up in bed, screaming. Your perpetrator screamed, too.

It took a second for your brain to register who it was.

“Lena!” You gasp. Knowing there was no threat, you flop back down on your back and rub your face.. “The fuck?”

“Good morning, love!” she chirps. “You’re a night owl for sure, huh?”

“I was told I never slept when I was little,” you yawn, staring at your ceiling. “So I spend the rest of my life catching up on my sleep. Why are you here?”

“I was sent to see if you’re awake,” she giggles. She enters your room and sits down on your bed. You groan, rolling over to turn your back to her. 

“Why?” You groan.

“We’re running a shooting simulation,” she smiles. “We’re meeting upstairs at the gun range. I think they just want us to practice moving targets.”

You groan louder. Lena giggles and gives your back a tap.

“We’ll see you soon, Agent Sleepyhead,” she says almost endearingly

It wasn’t until after she left that the sinking realization of the training hit you. Morrison must be feeling well enough to run the program. They’ll all know your terrible weakness.

You had to play it off. And you suddenly had a plan. 

-

You swallow hard as your colleagues lined up with standard .45s and took their shots into the gate. You hear the robots yelp “ouch!” You chew your bottom lip as your turn got closer. 

You feel Morrison’s eyes on you as you step up with agents on each side of you. He barks a command to take aim. You train your eyes on a robot shifting down his ramp directly towards you. A clear, easy shot. You couldn’t miss.

“Fire!”

A flash emitted from the barrel of your gun and to your horror, you saw the bullet straying by quite a few inches. In your panic, you shoot a second bullet.

Quickly using your ability, you take a moment to exhale as you saw the world around you slow down. You see both of your bullets travel slowly through the air. The other two agents shots were spot-on. In your hurried state, you crawl over the gate into the shooting range. You tug your robot gently in front of your second bullet, not enough to be noticeable but it will hit its mark. As you walk back to your post, you were brave enough to shift your first bullet as it grazed through the air.

As you took your place, the world around you caught up with your movements in less than a second. Your targeted robot yelled “ow, ow!” respectively as the two bullets hit it. Your colleagues gave you a nod. Morrison narrows his eyes at you.

“I said only one shot, soldier,” you hear him growl.

You roll your eyes.

“Extra credit,” you defend as you hand off your gun to the next colleague in line.

This went on for several rounds. You began to grow tired from running back-and-forth so much, but you couldn’t afford to get lazy now. Your colleagues all thought you were a wonderful shot. You were convinced that you had Morrison fooled, too. 

What you failed to notice as the training wrapped up was Morrison’s trained eyes following your movements. Sure, he couldn’t see what you were doing specifically, but he watched your body shift like you were ready to jump. Then, when you returned, your starting position was off. He knew he was pushing the trainees hard, but he was trying to wear you down, too. And it worked.

He watched you get sloppy. Your bullets magically curved even if you shot off the shoulder. You’d return with your gun in the wrong hand; a downside to being ambidextrous. But he wanted you to think you’ve fooled him. Perhaps it was a paternal instinct, but he couldn’t bring himself to call you out.

Your chest was tight as you left the training facility. Whether you fooled Morrison or not, the guilt still ate away at your stomach. If Hanzo was available, you decide you want more tips. You couldn’t keep this up forever.

“Hey!” your thoughts were interrupted with a harsh pat on your back. You jump instinctively before realizing it was Lena again.

“You have to stop scaring me,” you chastise. “One of these days I’m going to deck you in the face by accident.”

Lena’s eyes widen for a moment before bursting out in laughter. She pats your back again but this time, it was a lot more gentle.

“I’m sorry, Love!” Her eyes sparkle at the apology and you wondered if she meant it. “But I forgot to send you the e-vite.”

You’re suddenly hungry and take a sharp turn to the commissary. Your eyes scan the hallways to make sure Hanzo wasn’t there.

“E-vite?” you echo. “For what?”

“Well, to celebrate and kind of let loose, we’re having a party in the common room,” she follows you with ease. Having another speedy walker by your side was a luxury you didn’t have often; someone who wouldn’t complain of your sudden turns and fast pace. “Lucio is playing the music.”

You see a flash of Hanzo’s yellow ribbon down the hall. He was turning the opposite of the commissary and you suddenly felt torn.

“We’ll see you there, yeah?” Lena lightly punches your shoulder.

“Oh—yeah,” you blink. “I uh. I gotta run something.”

“No problem,” she salutes you. “See you tonight!”

You give a courteous nod before taking off. Just as you’d predicted, Hanzo was right down the hall with a stern look on his face. You stop in front of him. Hanzo nearly runs into you, his expression changing from stern to startled. When he registered who it was, his brows furrowed.

“I hate it when you do that,” he growls and keeps walking past you.

“Wait!” You turn to grab him, but thought better of it. He doesn’t stop. “Wait, I need your help again.”

“No,” was your immediate answer.

You jog to catch up to him. You stare at his angry face as you follow him down the long hallway.

“I need you to train me to be a better shot,” you stumble over your poor grammar.

Hanzo picks up his speed as he exhales heavily through his nose. You were surely irritating him, but you weren’t giving up so easily.

You run in front of him, stopping close enough so he couldn’t avoid you. He sees you at the last second but clips your shoulder rather than stopping. You wince as his hard muscle collided into your smaller shoulder.

Again, you run. But this time, you walk backwards to keep up with his pace so he couldn’t avoid you. His eyes cast downwards, pretending not to notice you were there.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” You demand. “I just need thirty minutes. Even a small pointer.”

Finally, he groans and stops. He looks up at you with an annoyed expression.

“You told me you cannot aim,” he growls. “I heard how well you performed in training. You should never lie to me.”

“But—!” You look around to make sure nobody was around to hear. You lean forward to whisper.

“I cheated,” you admit quietly. Hanzo raises a thick brow, seemingly amused. “I missed every single time. Except once. But even that was a poor shot!”

Finally, he sighs.

“I have plans,” he rubs his eyes. Your shoulders slump. He sighs again. “However, I will be available tomorrow morning.”

You grin.

“Thanks!” You chirp. You skip away to finally grab some food. Hanzo rubs his face, hoping you didn’t notice the heat rising to his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello! I’m back! Sorry for the lack of update here, but hopefully the little Jacky Boi and Reader segment was worth the wait!!


	6. Work Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first get-together with the team takes a docile turn. McCree confronts you about your relationship with Morrison.

An array of clothes were strewn across your bed. It was a pathetic collection of worn t-shirts and sweatpants. The only decent outfit you owned was a button-up blouse you’ve worn under your Overwatch formals and high-waisted slacks. You mumble incoherent words to yourself, something about regretting not going clothes shopping more often.

You look at your phone and it lets you know that you had approximately an hour before the gathering starts. You begin to debate whether or not it was enough time to run into town, grab some clothes, and run back. With the commute in mind, it wouldn’t be bad considering running. However, you knew it would tire you out more than you’d want, especially since you spent all afternoon running around to move your targets.

You set the outfit on your bed and sent a picture of it to a group chat with Fareeha and Lena for a second opinion. You sat on your bed, waiting patiently for a response.

_‘Appropriate,’_ was a quick response from Fareeha.

_‘No, no, nooooo!’_ Lena disputed in her text.

You sigh and toss your phone on the bed.

One hour until the celebration. May as well bug Hanzo for some last-minute training. Going on the training grounds always helped clear your mind and calm your nerves. It oddly reminded you of the time you were going on your first date back in high school and you had relieved that anxiety by punching a few holes in robots.

Leaving your phone on your bed, you jog lightly down the hallway, hoping that the shooting range was empty.

Much to your relief, the range was empty. You make a beeline to the weapon cabinets and pull out a compact bow; may as well practice your aim and get your hand-eye coordination back on track.

You roam around the range, automatic lights flickering in as you wander through different parts of the building. You find a cozy corner and press the button on the wall. About 50 meters away, three targets drop down from the wall.

Keeping Hanzo’s words in mind, you take your aim. Elbows close to your body, shoulders down, feet squared. You inhale and aim. You shoot.

The arrow pings off the wall, a few inches between two of the targets. They weren’t even the ones you were aiming for. You groan and take another arrow. You were going to keep trying.

Aim, inhale, exhale, shoot.

After half a dozen shots, the muscles in your arms began to protest. Your shoulders hurt from pulling the bow back several times. Your fingers were already becoming calloused.

On your eighth shot, you were relieved to hear the arrow tear through the surface of the target rather than the frustrating ping of it bouncing off a hard surface. You grin at your still poor of a shot; this time, you at least hit the corner of the target.

“You have improved,” a deep voice startles you.

You spin around, accidentally hitting yourself in the hip with the bow. Hanzo stands not too far behind you, arms crossed and his brows furrowed. He was in his usual gi, which made him look more professional than he had to be in a training room.

“Barely,” he adds. 

You frown as he approaches you. You feel yourself blush with shame as he observes your previous shots. He motions for you to keep going. After a moment's hesitation, you turn back to the targets and ready yourself.

“You are not aiming with your nose,” he concludes easily, pointing at your sights.

Shit. You knew you were forgetting something.

“Shoulders down,” he instructs.

“My shoulders _are_ down,” you retort.

Hanzo sighs heavily. He places a large hand on your shoulder and, just as before, you had to fight back a blush. However, his hand suddenly squeezed your shoulder hard. You yelp in pain and lower your shoulder to pull away from his grasp.

“Better,” he continues, but releases his hand from you.

When you took your aim, you feel him slide a foot between yours, sliding his foot to tap each of yours to separate them. You teeter on your feet, but he stabilizes you with a hand back on your shoulder.

“Find your center of balance,” he speaks softer now.

You release the arrow under his careful instruction.

“Better,” you hear him say before you see where your arrow landed.

It was just a sliver to the right of the bullseye.

You turn and grin back at Hanzo, full of pride that you didn’t have to cheat for a bullseye—or rather a close enough mark to call it one. Hanzo looked mildly amused, his brows unfurrowed but he took a step back. He crosses his arms and observes you. You could’ve sworn he glanced down at your slightly parted lips. His eyes dart back up to meet yours before you could confirm or deny his thought process.

“Try again,” he says, clearing his throat. “This time without my help.”

You were getting settled in your position again when you hear a ringtone go off. You tap your back pocket, only to touch your own butt at the realization that you’d left your phone on your bed. You turn around to see Hanzo pull out his own phone to answer it.

“What?” He answered sharply. You try to ignore him as you go through the cycle of instructions to make sure your next shot would be better.

“I am not coming,” he scoffs. “This is highly unproductive.”

He hangs up aggressively as you release your arrow. It hits the target, but on the middle ring. Better than before, but not nearly as good as when you were under direct guidance. He doesn’t comment so you turn to see if he even watched you.

“You okay?” you ask.

“McCree will not stop bothering me to come to this ‘party’ tonight,” he groans, nearly spitting the word “party”. “It is a waste of time and—”

“I forgot!” you nearly drop the bow. “Sorry, I mean, thank you for teaching me, but…”

The words wouldn’t come out as you flustered, making your way out the range.

“I’m going to get ready,” you wave. “Thank you!”

“You are going?” Hanzo says it slowly, almost in disbelief.

“I mean,” you shrug, fidgeting to leave as soon as possible. “I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

Hanzo stares at you for another moment before waving you away. You felt demeaned, but shook it off.

* * *

You shimmy down to the elevator in the off-shoulder black cocktail dress Lena has graciously left on your bed after five missed calls. You uncomfortably shifted in your heels, wondering if you looked well enough that it was worth the discomfort.

The music was pumping through the elevator by the time it hit the basement floor where they had the entire area cleaned and open. The island counters on one side was turned into a temporary bar. Lucio has his gear set up against the center of the back wall. Someone had moved all of the furniture to the right side of the room, essentially transforming it into a cozy lounge area. The lights were off save for the flashing lights coming from Lucio’s expensive gear. You wondered how he even managed to get it all down here.

People didn’t start coming in until after you settled in. You started off sipping your favorite cocktail, watching unfamiliar faces walk by you. Some even already started hitting the dance floor early on. You wondered if these were the people who pregamed.

A familiar wolf whistle called out to you. You snap your head around, looking for the source until your eyes settle on Lena, putting her Chrono-Accelerator down next to her feet at a barstool. She was wearing a white blouse that wasn’t buttoned all the way. She had a form-fitting skirt and high boots.

“You don’t have to be a walking stereotype,” you jest over the music. Lena laughs as the bartender walks over to take her drink request. She settles on a wine slushie.

“How else are people supposed to know I’m lavender?” She giggles as she plays with the metallic straw sticking out of her drink.

“That’s a new term,” you comment.

“Gotta let everyone know where I stand,” she sips her drink. She looks up before coughing. You look at her with your eyes wide, concerned for her.

“Are you okay?” you pat her back. Lena nods as she looks pointedly at someone behind you.

You turn to your six and see what she sputtered at. You nearly did the same.

McCree stood at the entrance, greeting a few of the male agents with fist bumps. However, it was his clothing choice that threw you off. He wore a thin, dark button-up with his sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. He still wore a cowboy hat and the large gaudy “BAMF” belt buckle. His jeans were form-fitting and his boots didn’t have spurs on them. The top three buttons fought to stay closed as the swell of his chest strained against the seams. You wondered if he knew his shirt was a little too small.

Other women in the room had their eyes on him. You turn away to see Lena cleaning up her spill with a napkin.

“He looks like a bloody cricket,” she stifles another laugh. The way she executed the sentence sent you in a giggle fit with her.

“Finish up your drink,” you encourage, unable to hold back your grin. “Let’s get moving, you lightweight.”

“Am not!” She protests loudly.

You watch her slurp the last of the slushie at the bottom of her cup as you reach out to take her hand. She reaches out with a goofy grin and takes your offered arm. Together, you aimlessly walk to the other side, ending up at the circle of couches that huddled on the other side.

“I’m not really buzzed,” you tell her. “I’m going to grab a drink and you stay here.”

Lena simply nods as you pat her back and leave. You quickly make your way back to the bar. When you get up there, it is much busier than before. A big body with a big cowboy hat stood at one end, curled over a spirit on the rocks. In the dim lighting it was hard to see the drink.

You order a shot of whiskey. That would do the trick.

You toss it back as you were impressed at how smooth the alcohol was. You shake your head as you consider a second shot.

“Damn,” says a voice. You look up and it’s the one and only cowboy. He had a stupid grin to his face.

“You take that like water,” McCree grins. He nods at the bartender. “Let me get her next one.”

“It’s an open bar,” you snort.

“Let me choose the next one,” he gives you a wink.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but McCree was oddly flirtatious with you tonight. You brush it off; it was definitely the alcohol.

He slides you a shot of a darker liquid. You lean over the glass to take a whiff; it was whiskey all right. You were never quite the connoisseur, but it definitely felt stronger.

Without hesitation, you toss it back. It’s warm as it travels down your throat but it didn’t bite you nearly as bad as your last drink. You suppress a shudder as the warmth hit your stomach like a small flame. McCree grins with pride and you hope the blush on your cheeks weren’t visible in the dark.

“Atta girl,” he compliments, deepening your flush.

Your eyes drift to his unusual outfit. That too button is about to burst. You were almost entranced by the large swell of his chest, blaming your blatant stare from the alcohol.

McCree seems to notice your interested stare. He stretches his arms over his head, effectively allowing a button to strain and finally pop out of its seams. You couldn’t help but stare as the hairs at the top of his chest disappeared into the delicious valley in between. You wondered if this is how others felt when they stared at cleavage. You bit your bottom lip out of habit, a small tic McCree did not fail to notice.

The older cowboy smiled down at you as he offered you his hand. You stare at the extended hand, your mind fogging from the high alcohol content that you had plunged into your system. It took a moment to register, but when it did, you take his hand.

He leads you to the dance floor. You’re hesitant, but the alcohol numbs you of any common sense and your body follows. To your surprise, he respects your boundaries. He doesn’t grind, but moves his body to the music in an attempt to match you. You do what your body naturally did as you learned in your teenage youth; pop your hips to the beat and just make sure your arms aren’t limp at your sides like two pieces of soggy wheat thins.

The alcohol suddenly hits you and everything is a little bit funnier, every odd movement leading to a goofy laugh. McCree laughs with you, and again, doesn’t make a move you didn’t consent to. He keeps to himself, and it almost felt like having an older brother.

It was hard to try and hear what he was saying over the pulsing music, but his laugh was booming enough to catch it.

As the crowd got thicker, so did the cloud in your brain. He must’ve seen you fan yourself as he suggested a cup of water at the bar and to get you outside. You mumble incoherent things about leaving Lena behind and how you felt horrible about it, McCree reassures you by pointing at a drunk Londoner having the time of her life with a small group of girls. You raised a brow, impressed.

McCree leads you through a hazy fog as you feel cold air touch your skin. You look upwards to be startled by a bunch of little dots. It took you a moment to realize you were standing on the balcony of the base. McCree has somehow succeeded in leading you several floors upstairs and on the balcony floor close to your rooms.

In your drunken state, you lean over the metal bar of the balcony, inhaling the cold air a little too deeply. You choke on your own breath as McCree pats your back reassuringly. You wave him off and it’s silent between the two of you again.

“So,” he breaks the silence first. He chuckles and you barely turn your head to look at him. “I don’t know how else to bring this up, but it seems like a sensitive topic.”

“Oh yeah?” you slur. You play with your fingers over the edge of the balcony. The cold air felt so good.

“Morrison,” he lowers his voice. He watches you fidget nervously. “I haven’t told anyone.”

“Yeah that’s kind of _his_ thing,” you wave your hand around. “Once upon a time, it was ‘bring-your-daughter-to-work’ day almost every day. Then one day, I became Agent Nine. Then it was strictly business.”

McCree whistles. You immediately regret telling him your life. However, right now, that didn’t seem too important. That guilt seeped down into your gut, disappearing into the alcohol.

“You uh,” he mumbled as rubs the back of his neck. “You guys don’t—look alike.”

With the straightest face your drunk self could muster, your stare back at him. He turned pale from seeing your reaction.

“You can’t tell?” you speak with a dark tone. You watch the larger man swallow hard, making it hard for you to keep back the laughter.

When you did finally toss your head back as the laughter ripped itself out of you, McCree looked more stunned than confused.

“Yeah, no, I’m adopted,” you wipe a tear. You end up jabbing yourself in the eye during the movement. Perhaps you’re more intoxicated than you’d initially thought.

McCree nods in thought, obviously still stunned from being fooled. He then chuckles at the joke. He rubs the back of his neck; was he nervous?

“I don’t have a clean past,” he admits. “I ran with a bad crowd for most of my life.”

“You cleaned up,” you comment. The balcony shifts under you and your stomach churns.

“I suppose so,” he shrugs. “I know this ain’t the best time, but I was wonderin’ if you want coffee tomorrow. Should help with the impending hangover.”

As if on cue, your evening joys came out as a hot liquid. You feel embarrassment clench your throat as you emptied your stomach over the edge of the metal bar. A warm hand came in contact between your shoulder blades, right where the fabric of your dress was cut at your shoulders. He reassures you silently as the nausea finally subsided.

“That last shot of whiskey was my fault,” he chuckles.

The last thing you remember was groaning into the darkness below you.


	7. The Archer’s Digression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo’s sudden confrontation leaves you flabbergasted

The gut wrenching reminder that you had an actual date today sent you straight to the training facility to punch out your anxiety.

In a sports bra and leggings, you wrapped your hands, staring at the punching bag before you.

_‘Get in the right mindset. Let go.’_

You put in your wireless earbuds. Your favorite jam beats heavily and loudly into your eardrums. Letting the music consume you, you shoot out an experimental punch. It hits the bag perfectly. The sting feels good.

With each punch, you pick up speed. Sweat begins to perspire down your arms and your neck. Every hit. Every sting. Every joint that began to protest. It felt rejuvenating.

Swear dribbled down your face. Your lungs began to exert for more air. Your pulse thudded in your ears as loudly as your music. Your knuckles felt raw under the bandages. Despite it all, it spurred you on.

The punching bag suddenly exploded, startling you to oblivion as it’s yellow insides spewed everywhere. When you regained your senses, a sharp tip of an arrow was inches from your eyes. And you knew exactly whom it was from.

You step back and lean so you could see past the punching bag. You take out an earbud and glare angrily at an approaching man in his usual kyudo-gi.

“You could’ve killed me!” You snap.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would not have missed,” Hanzo snarls. “Do not insult me as so.”

“I’m not insulting you,” you scoff, fidgeting with your sweaty hand wraps.

“You are,” he growls as he pulled the arrow out of the bag. “Only a fool avoids practice of a new skill.”

You blink slowly. Was this man bullying you into training archery? Regardless, it irritated you.

He shoved a black compact bow at your chest. You try not to wince as the sharp plastic and metal edges bite your exposed skin. You glare at him as you take the bow. He motions to the target range behind you.

“You should be practicing what you lack in,” he snaps. “Not slandering away at a bag.”

“Shut up,” you retort, more annoyed than agitated.

Hanzo watches you stomp off for a moment before following you. He winces as you carelessly snatch up a leather quiver of arrows from one of the many compartments lined up on the wall. He can only hope you didn’t bend the arrows on accident.

He doesn’t help you as you ready your stance. You’re aware of his eyes staring into your back. It sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could ready an arrow, you look over your shoulder and see him awkwardly and creepily staring at a distance.

“The fuck, Hanzo?” you call out.

You watch him wince at your words. Finally, he hesitates and steps forward.

He is silent as he approaches you. He points forward. Oddly, your body obeys and face the targets. The only sound coming from him was his subtle breathing. He places a hand on your elbow and shifts. A foot slides between yours and knocks them apart. He pushes on your shoulder to lower your stance. The same routine, yet it felt more cold—more aggressive.

You aim with your nose before he could tell you to. He slides an arrow between your ready fingers.

You let go.

The arrow pierces the bullseye.

For a moment, you can’t believe it. You look over your shoulder with pride, but Hanzo is hastily walking away. Your smile fades as you watch him leave.

After a few more rounds, you decide to call it a day and get ready for your coffee break—date? Meeting? You weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

As you make your way back to your room, you walk past Morrison’s office. It’s unusually noisy and you hear his deep voice barking at someone. They must’ve done something bad for him to get that mad. 

You don’t realize you were straining to listen in until the door bursts open. You’re taken aback by the sudden movement and you’re frozen in place.

McCree pauses before you with his lips slightly apart from arguing. He then musters up a smile.

“Hey,” he grins awkwardly. You can see he was trying his best not to look down at your body. Until the sudden wash of embarrassment, you didn’t realize that you hadn’t changed out of your workout clothes.

“I wasn’t listening,” you blurt.

McCree’s eyes widen for a second before laughing. He tips his hat at you and you blame your blush on your adrenaline high from your workout.

“I believe ya,” he chuckles. “I’ll see you later.”

You watch, still stunned, as he sidesteps you and hurries down the hall. You exhale, not realizing you were holding your breath during the entire interaction. You rub the back of your neck; there was no way you could’ve made that more awkward.

You hear grunting from the closing office door and you let yourself in. Morrison was hunched over his desk, barely standing as he clutches his side. He looks like he’s about to fall.

Making it to the other side of the room within a fraction of a second was like walking speed for you. You push the chair in before Morrison could teeter back. He grunts as he plops down in his seat. You look around the room and find his water bottle. You grab that and search his desk for pills. Unsurprisingly, the familiar orange bottle was in the wastebasket.

“Stubborn old man,” you mutter.

“Watch it,” he growls.

He turns his head as you offer the bottle of water and the pills. You sigh.

“Commander,” you chastise.

Surprisingly, that’s all it takes.

With another stubborn groan, he reluctantly opens his hand toward you. You drop a couple of the pills as instructed and hand him the water bottle.

You watch him take the pill just to make sure. You’re about to turn around to leave, when his voice stops you.

“Are you headed into town?“ Morrison‘s brows furrowed.

This, for some reason, upset you.

“Yeah,” you snap. “Why? Need groceries?”

Morrison gives you a knowing glare. He’s not amused by your words by any means. You swallow, knowing that he knew your intentions of going into the suburbs.

“It’s just coffee, Morrison,” you sigh.

“McCree is not a good man,” he grits.

“I’m a good girl,” you feign innocence. You muster up the most pathetic pouty expression. “I pwomise.”

He visibly cringes at your words. You laugh as you make your way out of the office. You pause at the door with a pointed look at his medicine.

“I better not find that in the trash again when I get back,” you warn.

You make your way down the hallway to speedily make it to your room and change. You debate on running there, but you needed this extra minute to think. What outfit should you wear? What would you say? Was this really a date?

No, this was just a coffee break between two colleagues. No need to put a formal title on it.

You swing around the corner a little too fast and you nearly run into someone. You gasp as you see a rounded, tattooed deltoid muscle nearly clip your jaw. You take a step back and sigh as Hanzo observed how flustered you had become.

“Do you just not believe in shirts?” you gesture aggressively with both arms at his partially exposed torso.

“Do you?” Hanzo responds smartly.

It’s at this moment you realized that you were still in your workout clothes; midriff completely exposed and your leggings hugging your sculpted legs leaving little to the imagination. Fighting back the wave of embarrassment, you instead puff yourself up to own your confidence.

“Besides,” he lowers his voice. “This is my traditional gi. I will not change it for anyone.”

“Yeah,” you roll your eyes. “But I don’t want a Hanzo nipple staring at me every time I see you.”

You weren’t sure if he was amused, disrespected, or angry, but your only clue was a blank stare and a slightly parted jaw. You may as well have stunned him; the man was unresponsive for a moment.

Soon, red crawled up his neck and to his cheeks. At first, you thought he was flustered. However, when his brows furrowed, your gut said he was angry.

You were about to flee when his strong arm stopped you from walking past him. He grabs your forearm and jerks you down a short way, away from the direction you were initially going.

“Hey!” You try to jerk away from him, but he opens the door to a small office room and drags you inside with him.

You glance around to see that this was one of the projector rooms; no windows and the door’s window was dimmed to allow perfect view of whatever is being presented. You could recall a room similar to this one when you were stationed in Europe for infiltration briefings.

“What’s so important you couldn’t say to me in the hallway?” You turn to confront him, but Hanzo is right on your toes.

Confused and slightly frightened by his sudden close proximity, you take a step back. He takes a step forward. You start walking back and he continues his advance. Your back hits the wall and your adrenaline kicks in. Your hands are shaking and your legs are buzzing to either run or to attack.

“What is your relation with the commander?” Hanzo demands in a low voice. His voice is deep but it is coated with and underlying tone of jealousy. “Is it a romance? Is that why he is easy on you?”

“Ew,” you almost laugh. “No.” But you don’t give him any more than that. You knew better and this wasn’t the first time a jealous agent has confronted you like this.

“Then what about Jesse?”

Heading McCree’s first name said aloud for the first time catches you off-guard and it takes you a moment to realize who he was referring to. It dawned on you like a lightbulb that Hanzo was not jealous of your relationship with Jack because he was showing favoritism; he seemed jealous of other men near you.

No. It couldn’t be. Perhaps he felt threatened that the gunslinger would take his job to be your sharpshooting instructor.

Speaking of, didn’t Hanzo want to be trained by you in the first place? He hasn’t necessarily given you the chance to—

“Answer me,” he practically growls.

Your throat works to swallow hard.

“We are colleagues,” you muster. 

Hanzo’s eyes bore into yours. They’re dark, darker than McCree’s. There was a mysterious glint behind them that you just wanted to know more about.

“Despite how little time you have been here,” he speaks slowly. “Has someone already claimed your heart?”

“You’re talking nonsense—”

A non-gloved hand slides up your neck as the other rests on the wall behind you. Though you took pride in ability to not only move quickly but to think critically under pressure, this skill suddenly shut off. Your brain could barely process what was happening as the shaking hand rests on your neck and brings you closer. 

His lips are startlingly soft and so incredibly warm. They press so gently against yours that you weren’t sure if this was the same man that had aggressively knocked you down a peg every time you held a bow. Your eyes are wide, shocked; your hands frozen at your sides, unsure what to do. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed. He was so focused. So determined.

Just as soon as he pulled you in, he yanked away. You accidentally let out a small whimper in protest, but hoped the small ‘pop’ your lips made from parting concealed it. It didn’t go unnoticed by Hanzo has his chest heaves. His cheeks are lightly pink and hesitantly touches his lips to the back of his hand, but not to wipe it clean. It was almost like he was trying to preserve the memory.

“I am,” he stammers. “So sorry.”

Unsure of what else to do, you keep your eyes on the ground. You side-step him and he doesn’t move. He still doesn’t move as you speed away from the office.

It felt like an eternity until you made it back into your room. You quickly retired to your bed before seeing that it was barely noon. Your lips still tingled from the phantom feeling of his pressed against yours.

The day was only half over and you already felt exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seemed so rushed, I’m sorry! I had so many ideas to shove into one chapter that I ended up having to split this in half.˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚


	8. Letters and Dates

_Jack felt like his entire soul left his body when he came up to the torn-up farmhouse._

_The door was kicked off its hinges. Furniture was upturned and the food he had left out for her to eat was on the floor. He remembers screaming her name as he scoured the entire home._

_When she wasn’t there, he called everyone in._

_Within hours, they found out mercenaries who had kidnapped his daughter. Ana warned him not to go in alone, but he was blinded by rage._

_It was an abandoned parking garage. There were men armed to the teeth. He could hear a small whimper echoing throughout the building. They chose the garage for a reason; it was disorienting._

_“Give her back and you will be trialed fairly,” Jack boomed._

_“We were hired by her family for her safe return,” one of the men responded. “If anything, you should be charged with kidnapping.”_

_I am her family._

_He turned on his scope and his pulse rifle exploded rounds at any sign of movement._

_They shot back, but he was able to run out of the way. Helix rockets were too risky at such a compounded location; he had to rely on his rifle and his scope._

_Dozens of bodies fall under his rage._

_When it was all over, Jack was sweating heavily under his blue armor and his boots slopped over the pools of blood._

_She was in the back of a van crammed in a metal dog crate. She was hunched over on all fours, too small for her to sit up in. Her eyes widened as Jack ripped the doors open._

_“Daddy,” she whimpers. She reaches her arms out towards him and he doesn’t hesitate to reach back._

_He scoops her little body and holds her tightly against him. She’s shaking; he buries his face into her unwashed hair to keep her from seeing his tears._

_“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I’ll never let you go.”_

* * *

You didn’t realize you had taken a nap until your alarm went off.

Jolting out of bed in a panic, you realize your meeting with McCree was within an hour. You’re scrambling around to find anything decent—anything not work-related besides the dress you wore for the party.

You settle on skinny jeans, boots, and a nice shirt. This was the best you could do within the time span you had.

In the mirror, you decide to do something about your bedhead. Perhaps a quick fixer-upper wouldn’t hurt.

-

The motorcycle rumbles to a stop as you pull up to the address McCree had sent you earlier. Your stomach does knots as you park the motorcycle around the corner. Walking to the door hopefully wound help calm your nerves.

It didn’t help as you saw his broad figure waiting for you just inside the door. You almost feel nauseous as you step in. He was wearing a better fitting t-shirt with his gaudy belt buckle in full view. He exchanged his thick jeans to a lighter one, though it still looked a little worn. His hat made him look like a confused time travelled from the 1800s.

“Howdy,” he grins as you approach him.

“Hi,” you squeak. McCree nods toward the cashier to urge you to come up front with him.

“I’m payin’,” he says before you could argue.

He steps up to the counter and gives you a wink before he orders a black coffee. You settle on a hot chocolate.

The two of you wait silently for your beverages. It was odd as you follow him to a corner seat. When you settle in, he nods to your drink.

“A hot chocolate in a coffee shop,” he jests.

“Don’t judge me,” you scoff. “You just drank black coffee.”

McCree gives a hearty chuckle that was contagious. You couldn’t hold back a smile as he grins at you.

“You’re lookin’ mighty fine today, too,” he smiles. You shake your head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but your uniform before.”

“I wore a dress at the work party,” you feign offense.

“You knew what I meant,” he chuckles again.

“Well,” you smile into your cup. “Thank you.”

You sip at your hot chocolate. It’s not nearly as good as the ones Jack had made you when you were little, but it was still delicious. From the corner of your eye, you could see McCree had his right arm resting on the table. His left mechanical arm held the mug carefully.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything but flannel or a button-up,” you bravely say. McCree sips his coffee and gives you a hefty shrug.

“I ain’t got much to wear,” he admits. “This is practically my only clean shirt.”

“Ah,” you nod. “The life of a bachelor.”

“Easy now,” he laughs. “It ain’t that bad. Besides, you and Morrison must have it together.”

“You’re joking!” You toss your head back in a mocking laugh. “He’s stubborn, he can be distant, and I spent most of my military life in Europe because it got hard for him to pretend I’m not his daughter.”

McCree’s mouth twists in an unsure frown. He fidgets with his mug, unsure what else to say. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself; seeing the way you unintentionally made the large man feel awkward made him feel more—human.

“It’s okay,” you gently speak. His eyes dart up to yours. You offer him a smile and the corner of his lip jerks in a smirk.

Your fingertips are in contact with something. You look down to see that you had been so engrossed in the moment that you didn’t realize you had reached out across the coffee table and had your hand gently placed on top of his. You withdraw slowly and hesitantly, but McCree doesn’t argue.

“What about you?” You cough. “Gang, huh?”

Hearing you say something so criminal blatantly and innocently catches him off-guard. He sputters on his coffee and he tries to play it off by chuckling, covering the spill on his lips with the back of his hand.

“Darlin’,” he tries to smile. “That ain’t somethin’ a lady should say so blatantly.”

“So?” You boldened.

“Well,” he sighs. “I was in it for most of my young life. Lost a part of me durin’ that time.”

“Your arm?”

“No,” he laughs. “I had my arm until after I joined Overwatch. But that’s a long story this old man doesn’t want to bore you with his old war stories.”

“Old man?” You shake your head with a huge smile. “You’re in your thirties.”

“You’re flatterin’ me,” he sips his coffee. “Sure as hell feel old.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

Time flies as the two of you joke over cooling beverages. Your hot chocolate became milk chocolate and his coffee was refilled twice before you realize you had spent well over two hours just talking. However, his small flirts here and there didn’t go unnoticed.

“Shit,” you finally say, looking at your phone. “I need to head back and get ready for training tomorrow morning.”

“That’s ‘right,” McCree nods. “Let me walk you out.”

He rises and you follow suit, picking up the mugs to return it to the counter before heading outside. McCree walked right beside you. It almost felt natural to be by his side.

“I parked around the corner,” you point.

“I’m across the street,” he nods to the small lot to his right.

“I can drive you,” you smile. 

“I’m a big boy,” he enunciated the vowel. “I can walk.”

“Sure,” you smile as you turn around the corner.

McCree sees it first. He stops dead in his tracks and releases a sharp sigh.

“Get back,” he warns as he shoots an arm out to stop you. “Don’t know if they’re still around.”

Before you could ask, you look past him to see what he was referring to.

Your motorcycle was toppled over and spray painted green and pink. There wasn’t any crude drawings, so it wasn’t a random act of vandalism by teens; it was all just scribbles. There was a small note stuck to the windshield.

McCree withdraws his Peacekeeper from his leg holster; you weren’t even aware he was armed. Now you felt foolish for leaving your guns back on the base.

He waves at you to show that it was clear. Grateful, you step forward to investigate the motorcycle. It was scratched up on the side it fell on. The paint was all over the seat and handles, too, but dry to the touch. Whoever did this was far from here by now.

You take the note and unfold it. McCree holsters his gun back before looking over your shoulder. You’re not silent as you read the note together:

_‘Your real parents want you back.’_

You chew your bottom lip after reading the words a dozen times in your head. McCree brings you out of your thoughts by placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Do you want me to turn that in?” He asks gently.

You crush the note in your hand and throw it in one of the concrete trash cans on the sidewalk. You shake your head. 

“As far as I know,” you smile. “I already have a real parent.”

McCree seems stunned for a moment before chuckling. He nods to lot across the street.

“Let me take you back to the base,” he offers. “We can call a tow to pick that up.”

You’re oddly quiet as you follow McCree to his motorcycle. You try not to smile at the fact you both chose the same vehicle.

He climbs on board and your heart thuds hard against your chest. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, even more so when he offers his hand to help you onto the small vehicle.

You hesitate as he drives, wrapping your arms around his waist. You tried not to focus too hard at how his abdomen flexed under your arms as he shifted to keep his balance during turns. He smelled like cedar and sandalwood; you wondered if he bothered with cologne or if that was his natural scent.

When he pulls into the large garage, he kicks the stand down and slowly gets off the bike first. He courteously helps you down as you grab his metallic hand to leap off. It was strangely warm from gripping the handle for so long.

His hand lingers with your a little too long. You hesitate before looking up at him. He’s smiling back down at you, his eyes full of warmth and life.

“Thank you for lettin’ me take you out,” he speaks softly. 

“Thanks for um,” your words are slow to come out. “For paying.”

It’s awkward as his metallic hand gently cradles yours. You hoped he wouldn’t notice how clammy your hands were. His hand pulls on yours with a light tug and you comply by stepping forward. McCree leans forward, head slightly tilted.

Knowing his intention, your stomach clenched in a tight knot. His eyes searched yours for permission, stuck with the tilt in a silent plea.

Hanzo’s warm lips upon yours snaps across your vision. Your lips tingle along with an odd creeping feeling of guilt crawl up your spine.

In your panic, you turn your head away. You feel McCree lift your hand and kiss your knuckles. You were immediately self-conscious of the calluses on your hands and wished you’d put on lotion beforehand.

“Don’t feel pressured, darlin’,” he smiles.

You bashfully pull your hand away, but you offer him a courteous smile. He nods your way.

“Want me to walk you to your room?” He was so gentlemanly, you weren’t sure how to truly feel.

“I have to make a stop,” you admit. “But thank you.”

McCree tips his hat to you as you part ways. You feel your face and realize that your cheeks are hot. Why did you feel guilty? Why did you reject his advances? He wasn’t unattractive; he was quite the opposite. He was also sweet and courteous. And damn, that accent made you melt.

So what did Hanzo do to make you feel so bad?

* * *

Morrison waited for you in his office after submitting a formal request of investigation for the attack on your bike. It was obviously targeted, and whoever did so wanted your attention, and perhaps Overwatch’s attention, too.

“Sit,” he motions across from him as he taps away at his keyboard.

You don’t argue as you sit across his desk. You simply stare at his face while you waited for further instruction; His stark blue eyes were surrounded by crows feet. The large scar that split across his face sent you down memory lane when you were a teenager, leaning across the hospital bed, staring at his bandaged face as you yearned to see his kind blue eyes.

“We don’t have a lot of details yet,” he says with a stern expression. His eyes are kept on his screen. “But we can assume they’re dangerous.”

“Wow nice deduction,” you snort.

Morrison pauses in his typing and gives you the “look”. You grin widely and he sighs.

“I’m doing my best here,” he groans. “Personally, I think this is related to whoever attacked you nearly fifteen years ago.”

The memory of being kidnapped from your own home sent a shockwave if distraught through your system. Your heart palpitated and your hands clenched into fists. You may be a soldier now, but the fear has never left you.

“Hey,” he snaps for your attention. He says your name—your actual first name—and your glazed eyes focus in on him.

“I promised you,” he says. He leans forward on his desk to give you his full attention. “I will never let them get you again.”

“Why do they think my birth parents want me?” You could barely whisper.

Morrison exhales deeply. He stands to walk around his desk. You hear him lock his door before sitting down next to you.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But what I do know is that this is your choice. It may be dangerous, but if you want to know who they are—”

“No,” you interrupt. Hot tears prick the back of your eyes as you look at Morrison. Worried eyes stare back.

“I know my dad and that’s more than enough.”

There’s a moment of silence. You couldn’t tell if you upset him or not.

Jack loops an arm around your shoulders and bring you on close. You lean hard against the armrest of your seat but you comfortably nestle against his shoulder. Even as a grown adult with soldiers’ lives on your hands, you still felt comfort from your father’s presence.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Jack finally says.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little sickie and I wrote this while I was delusional of fever. I don’t have the energy to reread it so uh...here’s to a better chapter next time (☝︎ ՞ਊ ՞)☝︎


	9. Stowaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You devise a plan to sneak onto the mission that could be crucial to you. Morrison has other plans.

It’s been about three days since the incident with Hanzo, three days since your awkward date, three long days since someone had vandalized your motorcycle.

Morrison hadn’t given you any news on whether or not he found a lead. He also didn’t have assignments for you. It was getting quite boring, training and doing paperwork all day. 

That was when you found Hanzo speedily walking away from you and decided enough was enough.

You use your speed to catch up to him and startled him. You place a hand on his shoulder and force him into the commissary where a few agents straggled for a late breakfast and rushing out to wherever they were stationed. 

“You’re avoiding me,” you bark, leaving no room for argument. “And it’s not just the kiss.”

Hanzo’s eyes are wide at your aggressive front, but his brows soon furrow in agitation. His lips curl into something like a snarl and jerks his shoulder out of your grasp.

“You have no authority to command me—”

“You know something, don’t you?” Your demanding tone seemed to anger him further. “You know there is something Morrison isn’t telling me.”

“Yes,” he speaks truthfully. However, with his intonation, you realize that he had only done so not to protect his honor, but to irritate you endlessly.

“I’ll tell everyone what you did to me,” you threaten. Hanzo’s eyes dart around the room to the stragglers. A few agents were left, but they paid no attention in midst of their morning rush.

“You know full well it is not just my reputation you are damaging,” his voice is low.

Did he know about your outing with McCree?

Hanzo turns to leave. He must keep forgetting that you can move quite literally a thousand times faster than him.

You’re in front of his face as he tries to walk away. His brows furrow and his scowl is prominent. To any other person, this would have been threatening. To a trained solider like yourself, this was childish.

“If I tell you, will you leave me be?” This sounded much more like a plea rather than giving into your antics.

“No promises,” you shrug. “But I can try.”

Hanzo exhales roughly before double-checking the room. The stragglers had gone and the room had cleared out. It was oddly silent for a usually-packed area.

Finally, he leans forward to speak, his eyes casted down to his feet.

“We have a lead,” he mutters quickly. “We depart today.”

When he pulls away, you give him a pout. You raise your hands in frustration.

“That’s it?” You whine.

“You know better than I the consequences of divulging mission statements before they are completed,” he says.

His eyes drift up to your lips, thinking deeply before looking up at your eyes. They’re full of concern and confusion; it slowly ate away at him that he could not tell you more. But of course, he wasn’t going to tell you that.

You raise a brow as you watch his expression change. There was an odd flicker behind his eyes you couldn’t pinpoint.

“I will tell you the time of departure,” he finally says, his voice oddly hoarse and empty. “If you tell me your relation with Morrison.”

“Excuse me?” The request was beyond odd and the obsession he had with it was just as perplexing.

“Is it romantic?” He’s more bold now, taking a step forward to close the space between you two. The tension was so thick your shoulders tensed.

“No!” You fight through a pained laugh. “That’s disgusting.”

“Then why does he favor you?” He continues his relentless verbal attack. “I saw you leave his office and the hospital at odd times.”

Your face flushed. You were a soldier. You did not get offended or coerced into releasing information this easily! This time, however, you wanted information from him, too.

“Tell me the departure time first,” you say. “My relation with Morrison should be none of your concern anyhow.”

“That was not the deal,” he snarls. “You are testing my patience.”

You reflexively throw your arm out. It’s fast, but not fast enough to bypass Hanzo’s defenses. He blocks your arm with his own and grabs it with his free hand. He jerks you over in front of him to deliver a swift kick, but you kick your legs up before he could make an impact. Your legs land on his shoulders and you twist. Hard.

There’s a rough sound as your two bodies hit the floor of the commissary. With his head still between your thighs, you squeeze his neck in hopes of knocking him out. You could steal his communicator or his phone and forcibly get the information you wanted.

He twists his body and flips you over, knocking you on your knees. They buckle and you release your grip on his throat with a yelp. He takes advantage by climbing onto your back to pull your arm back, but with your ability, you wiggle out and deliver a swift kick to his shoulder. He gasps, startled, before turning his body to hold your retracting foot. This causes you to fall on your back and kick with your other foot. This time, you aimed for his jaw. 

“Agent Nine!”

A deep booming voice freezes your leg. Hanzo looks confused at your sudden stop before looking to see whose voice had calmed you so quickly.

Morrison stood with his legs at shoulder-width and his arms crossed just a couple yards away from where you were fighting. His scar wrinkled angrily as his expression looked down at you with such disappointment you felt your heart sink.

Hanzo steps away from you as you scramble to your feet. You clear your throat as you straighten your clothes. Morrison approaches you within a few strides and you know better than to back up. You swallow hard as he stares you down. His icy blue eyes were cold as they glare at you.

“Really?” he barks. “In the commissary?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” your voice waivers, your arms stiff as a board at your sides at attention.

“I should suspend you,” he growls.

“Yes, sir,” you respond, defeated.

“I’ll need to report this,” he says. “We will talk more when I get back.”

Your ears picked up his carelessly thrown words. Hanzo has not lied. They were on a mission without you. A mission he obviously did not want you to be a part of.

“Yes, sir.”

“I expected more of you,” he looks pointedly at Hanzo, who kept his head up, too prideful to take the criticism.

“Get ready,” he tells him with narrowed eyes. He turns to you. “You’re suspended to the base until we process this.”

You tried not to show any defiance as he stares you down for a response. 

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

You put on your uniform and clipped on your guns. You waited patiently in a pantry to listen for the right footsteps.

Heavy boots. Morrison.

Skidding boots. Lena.

Metallic clanks. McCree.

Light pats. Hanzo.

Four people on one mission. Medic must already be on board.

You sneak out of the pantry and run quickly enough to see them before finding another hidden location. You follow the small squad all the way out to the hangar, though it seemed it took them years to get there. 

The doors of their large jet were just closing when you quite literally stepped inside. They had left the back bunker where weapons and ammunition were stored unlocked. The lights were off and you had to navigate your way to a safe spot with the lights shining underneath the bunker door to the main body of the jet.

You sit down between two of the lockers and wrap your hands around the safety cords that kept them in place. You braced yourself as the jet amped up and was taxied to its takeoff. Your stomach made a familiar lurch as the jet jolts forward, accelerating at an incredible speed for a quick takeoff.

When the jet levels out a few minutes later, you brave the rocking aircraft and slowly make your way up the bunker, leaning against the walls and grabbing loose straps to climb your way forward. The familiar grip of nausea clawed at your stomach as you fought the turbulence.

“—miles until dropoff,” a voice muffled on the other side. You press your ear desperately against the thick door. You can hear more talking, but they’re no more than murmurs. There were a few words you could pick out, but they were useless to form a cognitive sentence. 

The lights to the bunker flickered on. Startled, you backpedal so fast you nearly trip, hastily trying to find a hiding spot. With your ability, you were able to move fast enough to find a corner, but not fast enough as the door opened and you heard a heavy foot step inside.

“Agent Nine,” your father’s voice was just as intimidating than when you were little and was recently caught drawing on his walls.

Knowing you were doomed, you clamber out of your hiding spot. Morrison stood at the doorway, his arms crossed, the pathetic yellow lights casting a grim shadow across his face. You stand up at attention, but not with as much gusto than before.

“You know the punishment for disobeying orders,” he growls. It was apparently loud enough that people began to gather at the door. Your face flush with shame as familiar faces look down at you with curiosity and, from Hanzo, disdain.

With your head lowering, you expect his next words to be harsh. He was going to turn the ship, drop you off, and have you detained until he returned.

“But this mission is time sensitive,” his words catch you by surprise. Your eyes snap up to meet his, your shock written all over your face. “We don’t have time to turn back. So for now, you’re part of the mission.”

You try to hide your growing smile, the corners of your lips twitching to fight it. However, Morrison’s scowl was more than enough to make your stomach fall back into line.

“When we get back, we will discuss what to do,” he warns. 

He turns around to leave and the small audience that had gathered parted out of his way. You swallow hard as you hesitantly follow him out, avoiding eye contact, especially with Lena and Hanzo. Morrison motions to the empty copilot seat as he sits next to it.

You shamefully sit down in the copilot’s seat, fidgeting with your uniform sleeves. It’s worn from use and being picked at; a nervous habit you ought to break if your clothes were to last longer than a month. Sitting next to the Commander was just as embarrassing as the many times you had to sit next to the teacher in school from the numerous outbursts you had throughout your childhood.

“Everyone clear?” Morrison asks. There’s a unanimous response behind you two. You avoided looking behind you, though you felt eyes on your back.

“Where are we going?” You muster.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he fidgets with the screen before him. The jet is on autopilot; he was just keeping himself busy to avoid talking to you. A childish move, but you recognize the behavior: you have done the same in the past.

The coordinates blink before him and it changes. The jet tilts slightly to change course. Perhaps he changed his mind about taking you with him?

Then you read the coordinates more carefully. It’s eerily familiar.

“Morrison,” you murmur. “Where are you taking me?”

“Agents,” he barks. You look behind you to see everyone’s heads snap up at attention. “Pit stop. When we land, I need quick evac. Hanzo, you’re escorting her down. I’ll send you a ride to pick you two up once we’re done.”

There’s a grunt in affirmation. You slouch in your seat. Great. Now he even got you a babysitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finally working on a plot! MWAHAHAHAHA ･:*+.\\(( °ω° ))/.:+ It shall tHICKEN


	10. Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re left behind with Hanzo with a couple of ground rules. It’s peaceful at first...

Just as you had feared, the pit stop was yours and Morrison’s country home in Indiana. It’s been well-kept and maintained by distant family members but otherwise, the interior was relatively untouched.

You wondered why Morrison would allow Hanzo to enter your private home. Your question would soon be answered as you fidgeted with your seat when the jet arrived in the field near your home.

“Stay outside on guard,” he directs Hanzo. “You’re not permitted indoors unless necessary.”

Morrison looks over his shoulder to peer at you before leaning over and muttering something. Hanzo gives a single nod before he turns to leave the jet.

As you make your way out, you make eye contact with Lena, who looks back with a concerned expression. Your stomach twists; she knew, too, and she didn’t even bother to text you. But in the end, you knew it wasn’t her fault. You knew the call.

The door drops as the jet rumbles idly. Morrison grabs your arm before you drop down.

“Stay inside,” he warns. “Don’t try anything funny.”

“I’m a clown,” you groan. You jerk your arm away from him and follow Hanzo into the fields. You feel his eyes on you up until the doors close and the jet takes off to it’s true destination.

Hanzo is staring at you when you look around your childhood home. He wasn’t allowed inside where all the pictures were hung up all over the walls, but he was oblivious about your true nature of your relationship with Morrison.

He keeps staring and you realize you’re being shepherded to the home. You glare back before reluctantly slinking inside, locking the door behind you.

The house was just as you’d left it months ago for your last R&R before going back to your post Europe. Dusted picture frames lined the walls, the floor mopped and cleaned, a fresh bowl of fruit on the coffee table, and the single tv in the entire house was cleaned off. Your family took turns cleaning and it was easy to conclude that whoever’s turn it was to clean this time left just a few hours prior.

You were bored almost instantly. You watched the news on the tv for a brief moment before losing interest. You paced the house, snooping through Morrison’s office to find nothing. Your room was cleaned and a couple new donated outfits hung in your closet. Perhaps it was your family’s way of telling you to wear something else besides sweats and t-shirts.

Grunting out of your uniform, you pull on a comfortable cotton t-shirt. It’s soft as you pull it over your head. You dig around to find some black leggings. Next to it were sweatpants. You gaze between the two of them before deciding on leggings; it was a little too hot this early Indiana morning and you knew by noon, it would be sweltering.

The pacing and poking around the house went on for nearly an hour before you looked out the back balcony. Hanzo has his bow in one hand, but he looked overall relaxed. His eyes drifted from one side of the land to the other. You see him pause and stare at the pole barn Jack has built for the two of you when you were a preteen. It had a small training room with a large gym mat for floors. The main room, however, was for your paintings. Jack often painted with you, learning new techniques while listening to music. It was a luxury neither of you have been able to enjoy in years, though one of you would stop by and work on some paintings as a sweet gift to each other.

When Hanzo shifts away from the balcony, you take an all-too-familiar route to sneak down the side of it. You swing from the side, clutch the pole that holds it up, and shimmy down it carefully until it was safe to drop down.

You barely make it up the hill until you hear your name get barked behind you. You snap around, irritated that anyone besides your father would call you by your first name.

With a sigh, you raise your hands as though you were being detained as Hanzo approaches you. He keeps his bow pointed to the ground, presumably out of respect. But his furrowed brows told a different story.

“Get back inside,” he growls. He doesn’t intimidate you and you give the best pouting face you could muster.

“No,” you whine. “I’m bored.”

His brow twitches, agitated or annoyed. He sighs and points at the house behind you. You shake your head in defiance.

“Then what?” he snaps. You could suppress the smile as you point at the pole barn behind him. He turns to follow your gaze before looking back at you with a raised brow.

“You can guard me there,” you persuade. “Morrison didn’t say anything about going in there. Besides, it’s smaller. Don’t have to pace as much.”

His dark eyes bore into yours in thought. He gazes back up at the barn before signing. He turns to you and after another long moment, he nods.

You make it to the barn within a fraction of a second. It takes Hanzo another minute to show up, chest heaving as you turn to greet him, unscathed by the short jog. He obviously sprinted up the hill, which was not an easy feat. You smile as you press a button.

The large garage door slid open. Hanzo takes a step back as he takes in the new environment.

The concrete floor was splattered with paint. Shelves lined the barn full of brushes, paints, thinners, finishes, extra buckets, and canvases wrapped and organized by size.

There was a ten-by-ten canvas hiding under a sheet in the corner with a paint-splattered barstool. It wasn’t one you had started before. Hanzo watches you with careful eyes as you approach the canvas. You grab the sheet and with a single tug, the sheet reveals the unfinished work underneath.

There was an outline of a waterfall and a cabin on the side. The background was plainly painted with blues for skies and green and red as the grass. It was far from finished, but it was intentional.

Watching silently, Hanzo keeps an eye on you as you move around the pole barn. You grab brushes, a rinsing bucket, a palette, paints; everything you needed to finish this.

He leaves you alone for nearly an hour. During this time, you had added a second waterfall in which the first drained into. The cabin was finished and you thought of adding some smoke from the chimney. You were just adding a few strokes to add more shrubbery around the small building before realizing you could add animals.

You swap the large brush from your right to your left. With your right hand, you grab a pencil and lightly sketched in a rabbit to hide in the shrubbery. The left hand picked up a small brush to start outlining it with paint. The right hand fixed a smudge.

“You are ambidextrous,” he murmurs.

“You are observant,” you reply.

You don’t see him flinch at your words as you keep your focus on the painting. Morrison left little sketches in the background which you filled with color to create mountains.

It was another hour before your back began to protest against you and there wasn’t a single text or phone call from Morrison. It looks like you’ll be here a little longer.

You get up with a sigh, aware of the dry paint cracking as you stretch. Hanzo averts his eyes and you look at him sideways.

“Want to go for a walk?” Your request startled him. Hanzo snaps his head at you and stares.

“Excuse me?”

“Walk with me,” you repeat. “I don’t want to go back home yet.”

“It is safer,” he huffs, but he follows you on your way out.

“Do I look like I need protecting?” You scoff. “Besides—”

You trail off, unsure if the next words should come out of your mouth.

“Besides?” He urges you.

“I uh,” you stammer. You fidget with the hem of your shirt before closing the garage door. “I don’t like being alone.”

Your words must’ve struck a chord, because Hanzo pauses in his step before continuing to follow. You lead him down the hill and around the house where you had started a flower garden with Jack.

There was a favorite bushel of yours with delicate white flowers that grew in little clusters. Hanzo seemed rather intrigued as you pointed them out to him.

“These are my favorite hydrangeas,” you smile softly. Hanzo leans forward, almost as though to inhale them. You watch, slightly surprised he is lowering his guard.

“Hirtas,” he almost whispers. 

“Yeah,” you reply slowly. “Hydrangea hirtas. How did you—”

“They are native to Japan,” he says. He straightens himself as he sighs. “We had plenty of these blooming around my estate.”

There was an odd silence that fell between you two. You’re mostly caught off-guard that he was opening up to you. Perhaps it was easier to do so considering there wasn’t anyone else around to talk to. But this softer side was something you wanted to see more of.

“We have more,” you try to coax.

For a moment, you’re afraid you scared him off. But he simply nods and you lead him around the back where there was a significant flower garden. There was a small koi pond with a bridge, a gazebo which you remembered getting several splinters from while building it, and it was flourishing with a variety of flowers.

You take your time walking around the pond and pointing out the different flowers. Hanzo seemed familiar with most of them, commenting on their family tree or their native origin. You were startled that he knew so much about nature, but it was oddly charming.

It was around two when you went inside and grabbed some food. It was a pathetic meal, but you managed to make a cheese and ham sandwich with chips. A typical American lunch, but it was filling.

You met with Hanzo at the pole barn and the two of you ate in silence. You weren’t a fan of the silence, so you got up and pushed the play button on the stereo Jack had installed for long painting days. It played some album from the 2030s that he grew up with. The synth and bass were definitely classic, but a chill beat that you didn’t mind fill the room while you ate.

His feet appear in your vision as you mash the chips in with your sandwich for a satisfying crunch. You look up, expecting him to chastise you about your odd eating habits. Instead, he holds out a hand toward you. You look perplexed before he moves his fingers to motion you up.

Finally understanding, you put your plate down on the concrete next to you and take his hand. He helps you up and you’re suddenly harshly aware of your close proximity with him.

Without warning, he cradles the hand you gave him and bring you in to sway with him.

Is this...dancing? Is Hanzo dancing with you to some old ass chill playlist?

He brings you in closer and you don’t fight back. You’re too close to his exposed chest, you’re too close to him in general. You try not to breathe too deeply, but his natural scent was still intoxicating.

“I am not very good at expressing myself,” he says so quietly that it’s almost impossible to hear him if you weren’t close.

“But I find you...appealing,” he sighs.

“I figured that,” you retort, but your tone is gentle. “You...I...that kiss…”

“I should not have forced that,” he apologizes. “I was overcome by my desires.”

Desire? How long…?

The thought was cut off as he holds you closer. You try to relax in his arms, but your shoulders are tense. He sways you gently and you follow. Soon, the tension slowly ebbs from your body.

The ground suddenly shakes, tearing the two of you apart. It stops just as it starts and your eyes meet his, wide and startled. You stare at each other, unsure what to make of it.

There’s a whine and you move quickly behind Hanzo. With a swift push, you knock him down as your childhood home was torn to confetti around you.

Once the bullets died down, you see Hanzo scramble for his bow as you pulled the trigger in the wall. It drops a secret compartment where Jack hid a smaller version of his pulse rifle in case of emergencies. Hanzo must’ve recognized the design; his eyes widen at the sight of it.

“You—Morrison’s—!” Hanzo stammers.

“Not the time!” You snap as you make your way to the garage door. There were large holes from where the bullets entered. From the angle, they were shooting up toward the hill. In a haphazard attempt to slow their fire, you aim and fire back before charging to the tattered door.

You lift the garage to see the spark of more bullets. There’s a shout of alarm from Hanzo but you move quickly. The bullets almost came to a complete halt. You follow their trail to see three men dressed in assassin’s blacks.

The kickback should still be recoiling.

You put the butt of the gun in one man’s face. You make your way across the field to the second man. You pull off his mask out of curiosity; you don’t recognize him. A complete stranger with a chiseled jawline and years of worry wrinkling his forehead. He must be the one in charge. You punch him hard in the face. He doesn’t react—yet.

The third was a bit further away. You see his bulked arms through the sweater before you pull back the hoodie that masked his face. You place the smaller pulse rifle to his head to intimidate him into a cease fire.

But then, your heart sinks.

The world catches up to you as the control of your ability slips from your body. You hear the sputter of guns fill your ears.

The jawline. The beard. The familiar eyes that still wrinkled at the corners when it absorbed the recoil. They were unfamiliarity red, but they still held an intense glare.

“Gabriel—?”

The name slips from your lips before you could stop them. His eyes widen, snapping out of whatever haze they were in. He ceases fire before turning his head to realize you stood behind him.

“You’re,” he breathes. It’s damn near impossible to hear him over the spitting of gunfire behind you.

“You’re Jack’s kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡°ω ͡°) More plot. More plot. More plot.


	11. It’s Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of your past comes back to haunt you. Jack has had enough of McCree.

Hanzo doesn’t flinch as Angela pushes the needle through for the third time, pulling the stitches taut. Instead, he was focused on Morrison standing with his tablet, taking notes of the incident.

“So you were attacked then they fled?” Morrison groaned. “That farmhouse is on private, hidden property. Nobody can find it unless they’ve been there.”

You haven’t told him about seeing the ghost of Gabriel Reyes. You couldn’t. Not now. Not in front of Hanzo. He was still pissed at you for your lack of kills that day.

Hanzo’s eyes narrow at the other man. You’d hoped he would put the pieces together, but he had simply glowered like a child and concluded that you were living with Jack—under romantic pretenses.

“I don’t know,” was the only thing you could mutter.

There’s a snip from Angela’s scissors as she wraps a thin transparent film around his arm you’ve only known as “second skin”; a medical breakthrough back in the early 2020s. Hanzo doesn’t pay her any attention as she finishes up silently.

“Take some ibuprofen for the swelling and ice if it gets worse,” she instructs.

“She let them go,” Hanzo snarls. “You had their leader under your gun and you let them go!”

“They left, didn’t they?” You spit back.

Angela sighs as she finishes her work on Hanzo’s arm. She ignores your petty arguments as she eyes your tired expression and Morrison’s bags under his eyes.

“Do either of you need a checkup?” she offers courteously.

You and the commander refuse in unison, though the word to turn her down were different. Hanzo raises a brow at the behavior.

“You Morrisons are stubborn as a mule,” she shook her head.

Morrison’s eyes widen before yours does. Immediately, you stand quickly and make your way down the hallways. You didn’t expect Angela to be so blunt. Perhaps she thought Hanzo knew since he was at the family farm.

Hanzo is hot on your heels. So is Morrison. You could easily escape them, but your mind was running a million miles a second.

“You are _married_?!” Hanzo practically wails behind you.

“Ew!” You shriek, waving your arms as you speed down the halls. “No!”

“Agent Nine, come back here!” the commander barks. “We have to talk!”

“What are you hiding!” Hanzo snaps behind you. You take a sharp turn. They follow.

“Agent Nine!”

“Morrison!”

“Get back here or you’ll be discharged from the next—”

“—have explaining to do! I—”

“Agent!!”

“Hey!”

Voices. Yelling. Annoyance. It all bubbles in your chest like a boiling pot about to spill.

It was enough.

You turn at full speed and appear in front of him. At the release of your ability, Hanzo nearly runs into you full-bodied. Using his momentum and his lowered guard, you slam a hand at his throat and shoved him against the wall.

Hanzo releases a strangled gurgle, brows furrowed and eyes full of fury. You glare back with a scowl, nostrils flaring in your tantrum.

“Hey!” a deep voice barks behind you.

You were blinded by rage. Heartbeat thrummed in your ears, drowning everything else out. You couldn’t even tell how much pressure you were applying against Hanzo’s thick throat.

Suddenly, you’re pulled away from him. Two rough hands shove you to the ground. You expected to feel the cold floor against your cheek, but instead the rough hands bring you into a curled embrace.

“Shh, it’s okay,” was the familiar comforting sound you haven’t heard in years.

Hanzo coughs and stares, flabbergasted by the sudden aggression towards him and the just as fast snap into calm oblivion.

Morrison sits across the hall from him, shushing and cradling the woman in her 20s. You curl up against him like a child, the red swelling in your face returning to your natural shade. Your breathing is steady as _Jack_ rubs your back, helping you through the episode.

Your chest felt like it had been squashed by an anvil from the stress of your episode. Your limbs buzzed and your head felt like it was being swept away by large waves in the ocean. The world spun too quickly. Everything moved too quickly.

“I hurt,” you whimper quietly.

“I know, sweetheart,” Jack murmurs into your hair. “It’s over now.”

As you slip into unconsciousness, Jack scoops you up and effortlessly stands, keeping you close to his chest. He makes his way back to the hospital wing before stammering. If you woke in a bright white room, it could trigger another PTSD attack. He opted for his room instead.

“Morrison—” Hanzo starts, but Jack’s glare stops him.

“Harass my daughter again and I will kill you,” he growls.

The archer goes pale. He doesn’t protest as Jack marches away, consoling his unconscious daughter.

* * *

_“There’s too many damn papers, Jack!”_

_Gabriel slams down the pen in frustration, sending the piles of legal documents fluttering off the counter. Jack crosses his arms, scowling at him from the kitchen. Gabriel sighs as he looks at the mess on the island._

_“I need you to do this for me,” Jack groans. “And watch your language around the kid.” He motions weakly behind Gabriel. He turns in his seat to see the culprit of the paperwork._

_The girl stands at the doorway, clutching a bright blue blanket that reminded him of Jack’s obnoxious color choice for armor. Gabriel’s body posture softens at the sight of her. Seeing her wide eyes stare at him was more than enough to tame his frustrations._

_“Sorry,” Gabriel murmurs before turning back to the papers. His hand is starting to cramp from writing his signature dozens of times, but this was for her._

_“I would ask Ana but she already has Fareeha,” Jack explains himself for the umpteenth time. He keeps an eye on his daughter as she pitter-patters through the kitchen. She stops at his side and curls her fingers in, holding up a pinkie to the corner of her lips. She pulls her hand inward._

_‘Juice,’ she has asked in sign._

_Jack took a cup and fidgeted in the fridge for the apple juice._

_“I only ask because if anything were to happen to me,” he continues. He fills the cup halfway before twisting the lid on so she wouldn’t spill it all over his carpets. Again._

_“She has a place to go to,” Gabriel grumbled. “I know.”_

_He sighed and looked up in time to see Jack’s little one quietly take the cup from him. She mutters a thank you before tilting the cup back and greedily sucking the liquid out. The sound was obnoxious._

_As she walked away, her feet caught onto her dragging blanket. Within seconds, the child was happily drinking juice to slipping directly on her face. There was a horrible smack as her mouth hits the tile floor._

_Jack bounded forward, ready to console her, but it was too late. Her whimpers quickly escalated to a wail. However, before he could get to her, Gabriel leapt out of his chair and appeared by her side._

_He watched in stunned silence as Gabriel muttered soothing words in Spanish, helping her up and wiping her snotty face with his sleeve._

_Gabriel’s brows arched in worry, his heart pounding in adrenaline as he saw the bead of blood forming on her bottom lip where she had bitten it from the fall. It was then he realized why he despised her presence so much:_

_All these years of turning away countless lovers was to protect them. That way, his enemies had no leverage. That way, he had nothing to worry about leaving when he jumped in front of gunfire._

_But here, in Jack’s kitchen, his heart flooded with worry and an overwhelming desire to protect something—someone he cared for. He cursed himself._

_As he wiped away the droplet of blood off her lips with his thumbs, his heart swelled as her big eyes stared back. Her lashes were wet and her cheeks were red, but a crooked smile formed and wrinkled all the sadness away._

_Jack knew he picked the right man, as much as he may deny it. He simply smiled and watched the two interact for the first time, crossing his arms and leaning back comfortably. He wasn’t needed here._

_“It’s okay, bebesita,” Gabriel’s voice is smooth and gentle. “You just had a nasty fall, but you’re as strong as your daddy, eh?”_

_She giggles and his heart nearly implodes._

_Dammit._

* * *

You gasp awake, your brain immediately processing that you were in the wrong room. The mattress was too hard. The covers smelled like a man.

Your heart rate accelerate as your adrenaline kicks in. You jolt up, ready to fight. Vertigo catches up to you and everything goes black for a moment. A hand on your back steadies your dizzy spell.

“It’s okay,” his familiar deep voice shushed.

With his coaxing, you lay back down and let your body calm down before doing anything else. You run through your memories to make sure what you did was not a dream.

Guilt wrapped its cold fingers around your throat. You try to speak but you’re hoarse. You swallow before trying again. You feel Jack sit down on the bed next to you.

“I choked Hanzo,” you finally say. It was more of a statement than a question, but Jack answers anyway.

“Yeah,” he says. He wipes your brow with a damp cloth. Your eyes drift closed.

“I had an episode,” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he repeats. He’s gentler now, stroking your hair and resting his hand on the top of your head. You revel in the gentle touch.

“Hanzo knows now,” you whimper.

“It doesn’t matter,” he grumbles, but you could tell by his tone that it bothered him 

You sigh as he gets up, picking up his clothes from the floor and throwing it in a hamper in his closet. Despite his age, the man still lives like a 20-year-old bachelor. But there was something comforting about that.

When he comes back with hot chocolate, you slowly sit up. He offers a smile as he hands you the cup that was brimming with whip cream. You carefully take it from him and take a deep sip. He chuckles as you pull away with a new white mustache.

“Dad,” you murmur. “I—I have something to tell you about the people that attacked us.”

“You don’t have to force yourself,” he reassures, but he’s leaning forward with curiosity.

You lower your mug and take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to put his delicate situation into words. How should you put it?

‘Hey, Dad, I saw Uncle Gabe. He tried to kill me.’

‘Yeah, so, remember Gabriel Reyes? He shot me.’

‘He ceased fire, though! I think he’s possessed.’

‘So you know how Gabriel died and we buried him and we cried over whiskey together for a week? Yeah, he was the one who shot up the barn.’

You inhale deeply. You just had to go for it.

“I…,” you hesitate. “I saw—”

A harsh knock on the door startled the both of you. Jack sighs as he pats your blanketed legs.

“Stay here, Sweetheart,” he smiles.

Jack gets up and places his mug on the nightstand. You stare at the steam rise from the mug as you listened to Jack’s heavy footsteps thud out of the room and to the front door. You hear him mumble something as he presses the keypad to unlock the door.

“I heard she's here!” An accented voice hastily says as the door barely opens.

“Go away,” Jack growls.

“No—no, trust me this is urgent,” the voice rushes. You hear spurs clack against boots as he scrambles to get in.

“Get back here—!” Jack barks.

You hear the two heavy steps scramble to Jack’s room. Soon, McCree comes into your view. His eyes wide, his chest heaving from running around. Jack is close behind him, grabbing his scruff and easily yanking back the large cowboy.

“Wait!” McCree protests loudly. “Wait, wait!”

He latches his mechanical arm to the door frame and pulls himself back into the room, Jack’s firm grin remaining on his collar.

“You—you saw the commander, didn’t you?” he pants.

Your body goes numb; how did he know? You nearly drop the hot chocolate from your fingers.

“He’s sick!” McCree begs. “He’s sick, it ain’t really him!”

“I said GET. OUT!”

With the last syllable, Jack grabs McCree with both hands and practically throws him over his shoulder. You hear more shouts and protests until the door slams shut, enclosing the room once more with silence.

Hearing a heavy sigh, Jack drags his feet to the bedroom where you sat, stunned. You hesitantly sip your coffee, wondering how to move on from that startling interaction. He sits down next to you with concern in his eyes.

“I have to go take care of that,” he says. “Will you be okay?”

Instinct caught up with you and you could only nod, unable to form words. He notices, but doesn’t press. He kisses your forehead and you wince at the spiky stubble that attacked your skin with the contact.

“Call me if it comes back,” he whispers. He takes his mug from the nightstand and tosses it back. There’s a visible shudder as the sugar attacks his heartburn.

“I’m going to regret that,” he turns to you with a grin. You feign a smile and he laughs in return.

He was trying to cheer you up.

As Jack got in his uniform, you continue sipping at your now mildly-warm chocolate. He gives you another kiss on the forehead goodbye and more worried instructions about contacting him if you felt worse. You had to urge him to leave by pushing him off the bed before he finally left.

You sat alone in the room, sipping the last of your hot chocolate when you hear your phone go off next to you. You gingerly lift it up to your face to see you had two missed calls and a text message:

_‘Let me explain. It’s about your bike.’_

McCree.

You grunt as you finally get out of the bed. You make it to the kitchenette and fill your mug with water only to see Jack didn’t put water in his. You filled it up before your phone buzzes again.

With little hesitation, you answer as you make your way back to the bedroom.

“Yeah?”

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice rasps.

You didn’t even check the caller ID. You pull the phone away from your ear. The caller ID was eerily blank.

“Hey?” Was your hesitant response.

“It’s uh—it’s been a while.”

“Yeah? Who is this?”

The line goes silent. You press the phone harder to your ear. If it wasn’t for the light breathing, you would’ve thought the line went dead.

“It’s uh—” the voice continues. He coughs. You strain to listen to him. You turn up the volume all the way. It’s still near impossible to hear.

“If this is a prank, I’m hanging up,” you finally huff.

“No,” he whispers. “No I’m—I’m sorry. It’s hard to keep...myself here.”

“I don’t have time for your bullshit,” you growl. “You pranked the wrong person.”

“It’s me,” he gasps. It sounds like forming the words pained him. His voice raspy, dark, like something is plaguing him.

“Who is ‘me’?”

More silence. Your patience was wearing thin. You were too mentally drained from your episode earlier and then McCree’s outburst.

“It’s…”

Despite your annoyance, you press harder against your phone. You couldn’t hang up. Something was keeping you on the line. Hope? Worry?

“It’s your Uncle Gabe.”

“How did you find me?” You finally gasp.

No response.

“Hey!” you bark. “How do I find you? Where have you been? Where are you now?”

The barrage of questions are never answered as you finally hear the line fall dead.

You stood there in the middle of the kitchenette. The phone slips from your hand. You don’t hear it shatter against the floor as tears overwhelm you. Your throat works through a lump as panic rose in your chest.

Crumpling to the floor, you curled up and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOTPLOTPLOTPLOTPLOT•ू(ᵒ̴̶̷ωᵒ̴̶̷*•ू) )੭ु⁾


	12. Talon’s Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree invites you out. He has some important news.

A note was slipped under your door the next morning. You groaned as you flopped out of bed, landing on your carpet. You should’ve spent the night in Jack’s room; the nightmares were horrible.

But as you pick up the note, by the stench of cigar you immediately knew whose it was even before reading it.

_‘Meet me where your bike was vandalized.’_

Nothing more. Nothing less. At least he was blunt.

With a swift change of clothes, you pulled on a light jacket over your civilian clothes before heading out.

* * *

McCree was leaning against the alleyway wall when you arrived. The place was cleaned up pretty well. There’s no evidence someone had knocked over your bike nor a that vandalism happened within the week. 

He smiles as you arrive, but it’s strained. He tips his hat as you nod back in response.

“Turn off your phone,” he says. You don’t question it; you knew what he was paranoid about.

“I did some diggin’,” he says quietly after you put up your phone. “You know Talon?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. Of course you knew Talon; they were a terrorist group that everyone feared. Especially their notorious Reaper. He’s killed more people than you ever did during combat.

“They’re connected?” you gasp. He places a finger to his lips as his eyes darted up to something behind you. You clamp your jaws shut and, to avoid suspicion, do your best to avoid looking back.

“They’re here,” he warns. He loops a protective arm over your shoulders and ushers you further down the alley.

“Who?” You murmur.

“Them,” he repeats. “Damn. This is my fault for bringin’ you out here.”

“What?”

Your short questions are answered by the heavy footsteps behind you. McCree takes a sharp turn around the corner and into another alleyway.

“For you,” he explains quickly. “Shit.”

The footsteps are coming closer. He takes his hat off and places it on top of your head. He scoops you close against the wall as the footsteps got louder. And louder. Perhaps it was your heart rate, but everything gets louder as your back presses against the brick wall behind you.

“Sorry,” he leans against you. “Keep the hat low over your face.”

His honey-colored eyes bore into yours, his eyes searching you for a better solution. But he was out of time.

“Do you trust me?” he drawls softly.

You knew what he intended. He had to hide my face. He had to distract our pursuer. You close eyes, face burning. Despite it all, he wasn’t going to do anything without your permission.

“I trust you,” you whisper.

A warm hand cups your cheek and tilts your head up toward him. With his other hand, he pulls the brim of the hat to the side to cast a shadow over your features. With your eyes still closed, you just _feel_ What was happening. He presses his lips warmly against yours; slightly parted, a little chapped, but pleasant all the same.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until the loud footsteps came close behind McCree. He presses himself closer against you, most of your body pressed against him. Your mind reeled at the feel of his hard body enveloping yours.

The footsteps fade as quickly as they came. McCree releases you with a sigh. You hold back a noise as you suddenly felt cold in the absence of his embrace.

When he doesn’t move, you look up to meet his eyes. He’s staring at his feet, almost innocent without his large hat on his head. When he looks up to meet your gaze, a smile tugged at his lips.

“Do I look silly with this hat?” You ask.

“No,” was his breathy response. “You’re...damn cute.”

His eyes drift back down to your lips. You watch with curiosity as his tongue licks the seam of his lips. Did you want more? Was this okay?

No, this was just to distract your pursuer. You weren’t easily shaded by things like this.

“Who was that?” You finally exhale.

McCree blinked himself out of the haze before looking up and around. You take off his hat and offer it back to him. With a smile, he takes it gently from you and places it on his own head. Your head oddly felt cold after its removal.

“I think that’s one of the men lookin’ for more of your shit to vandalize,” he concludes. He sighs and shakes his head. “They probably kept tabs on me to draw you out as bait.”

“Why would they want me?” I whisper.

“You know that mission we went on?” McCree starts, leaning against the wall next to you and keeping his voice low. “Turns out it was a decoy. Whoever set us up knew you well ‘nough that you would sneak onto the ship and get dropped off in Indiana. That’s when I did my own research. Turns out our old Gabriel Reyes ain’t dead, but he also ain’t alive.”

Your expression falters. McCree searches your face for a stronger expression or even a look of disbelief, but he feels tension ebb from his shoulders as he sees the look of full trust. You believe him wasn’t enough. You both knew that, but this was a start.

“I saw him,” you finally whisper. It felt like a ton of bricks were lifted from your shoulders when you were finally able to tell someone else.

McCree raises a finger and looks around the alleyway before nodding. It was safe to talk here. For now.

“He was part of the group that attacked Hanzo and I at the pole barn,” you explain. “I haven’t been able to tell Morrison.”

“I think he knows,” McCree said with a twist in his lips. “We were sent to the other side of the country. There was an abandoned lab, but not for long. Looks like Talon got their nasty hands on some biological things. You’re their target because they’re testin’ on people like they tested on Morrison.”

Before you could respond, there’s a bang of a back door opening. The both of you flinch and, with McCree’s guidance, you’re ushered down the alleyway silently.

“They left a print,” he huffs under his breath. It was barely audible over the sound of his spurs clicking against his boots. “I brought you here to see if they would follow. Looks like I was right.”

He stops you with an arm. You nearly clothesline yourself, but skidded to a stop before you run into him. You’re both at the end of the alleyway, peering out into the busy street. His gaze is fixated on a point in the distance. You follow his gaze to see the shady man who had attempted to tail you earlier. He must’ve overlooked you because of the big display of PDA, but you couldn’t count on that working again.

“We gotta shake ‘em,” he says, taking a step back. You follow until you’re in the shadows of the alleys again. You watch his expression change as he thinks of a plan.

“Or we could go ahead and ambush him,” you proposed. “We can take him in and interrogate him at the base.”

McCree looks down at you with a raised brow. You raise a brow back. He thinks about it, searching your eyes for any hesitation. When he didn’t see any, he smiles.

“Awright,” he drawls. “But we gotta take precautions.”

“I’ve only got a pocket knife on me,” you say, peering back across the street. The man was still there, scanning the people passing by him. “If we attack, we have to do it quickly.”

“I’ll follow your lead, then,” McCree winks. You try to shake off the blush that creeped up your neck, but a smile forced its way across your face. You cursed your body for betraying your sense of duty.

The two of you waited until the man finally made a move. He was walking in long, unnatural strides to get across the street quickly. A car horn blares at him as he steps in the street. He takes a sharp turn before he reaches the alleyway the two of you hid in.

Amidst the chaos, you use your ability and quickly get behind him. You wrap your arms comfortably around his head in a tight lock, making sure you held his head tight as you pulled him back to the alleyway where McCree waited. You supported his neck with your shoulder to avoid the whiplash from killing the man.

The man gasps when you make it back to the alleyway, his body unable to comprehend nor keep up with your impossible speed. Keeping him in a headlock, you kick his knees in and buckle them. He falls to his knees, still gasping from the shock of moving so quickly.

McCree pulls out his gun and pointed it at the man’s head, thumb pulling down the hammer. You feel the man tense up in your arms as he hears the familiar clicking as McCree cocks the gun. The heavy Peacekeeper was a sight to behold, but you force your eyes back down to focus on the man.

“Don’t try anythin’ funny,” McCree warns. “You’re in serious trouble if you do, buddy.”

The rasping and gasping of the man slowly turned to airy huffs. You weren’t quite sure what he was doing until you realize that he was choking out laughter. You look up at McCree, confused and terrified as to why he was laughing at you.

“You’re the one in trouble,” his gravelly voice vibrated through your forearm.

Before you could respond, McCree let out a startled grunt. You’re distracted only for that brief moment, but it was enough. The man in your arms tosses his head back. You let out a cry as his skull came in contact with the bridge of your nose, shooting pain all the way into your eyes. Hot liquid dribbled down your lips.

You let the man go, struggling to get out your dazed state as you try to regain yourself. You see McCree on the ground with a needle in his neck. There’s a pinprick in your neck as you turn around. It immediately made you feel woozy, like you’d drunk too much scotch in one sitting.

Shadows of people overwhelm you as you collapse to your knees. You fight with all your might to regain yourself, to focus, but everything was moving too fast. The ground spun even as you tried to support yourself on all fours. A boot kicks you hard in the stomach.

That’s the last thing you feel before darkness consumes you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I’m sorry for the late update. College has been kicking my ass and it hasn’t even been a bloody month. Whelllllp. Here ya go. I wrote this in my class. Hope it was worth wasting time lmao


	13. Parental Guidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re face-to-face with someone you hadn’t seen in years. McCree isn’t in better shape than you.

_White floors. White blanket. White gown. Glass walls._

_Floors. Blanket. Gown. Walls._

_That’s all I had._

_The people in white would come in with food. They usually were tasteless. Grey goo in a white bowl with a shiny spoon. They would tell me how special I am as I ate. They would take my arm and strap me in a chair while I was eating. A distraction, I think._

_The familiar sting of a needle. Then Red._

_I like red. It’s the only thing different on the otherwise colorless floors._

_They’re done. I get to go sit down on the floor. If I’m quiet and good, they bring me colorful sticks. These sticks let me make shapes. The floor is no longer blinding. The walls are no longer so see-through._

_Everyone always changed. No familiar faces. Voices blurred, words muttered around me._

_Except one._

_A woman with long hair that shimmied like a river down her shoulders. She wore white, too, but she smiled. She was the only one that smiled._

_‘Hey baby,’ she would always say when she came in. ‘How’s my girl doing?’_

_She’d play with the colored sticks with me. She’d cut my hair with a buzzing machine when it got too long. Sometimes, she’d even come in when they’re taking the red out of me._

_‘You have my daddy’s eyes,’ she would always say. Whatever that means._

_She was a friend._

_A friend helped. A friend pet my head. A friend would compliment me every day. A friend would come see me._

_But one day, she got really mean._

_She made me do so many laps on a floor that wouldn’t stop moving. If I puked, I was hit. If I fell, I was hit. If I didn’t keep going, I was hit._

_If I cried, they took my sticks away._

_She would scream at me when I didn’t do anything right. They gave me hard questions. They gave me papers to study. They took more red out of me. It made me dizzy, but they still made me run on the moving floor._

_I started hating the grey goo. I told the lady I wasn’t going to eat it._

_Until they took the goo away from me for a long, long time. Then, after that, I never complained about it again._

_Suddenly, she stopped showing up._

_‘Where’s the long-haired lady?’ I asked._

_‘Gone.’_

_‘Gone where?’_

_‘Gone.’_

_Then, I was alone again._

_…_

_White floors. White blanket. White gown. Glass walls. Red from my arm. Grey goo. Colorful sticks._

_White floors. White blanket. White gown. Glass walls. Red from my arm. Grey goo. Colorful sticks._

_White floors. White blanket. White gown. Glass walls. Red from my arm. Grey goo. Colorful sticks…_

_...then, one day, a strange blond man came in. He also had a color stick, but it wasn’t like mine. He would draw with me. He would smile._

_He was a friend. I hope he doesn’t get mean like the lady did._

* * *

Waking up to darkness was a nice change of pace rather than sunlight beating its way through your hangover. What even happened? You should probably get up.

That’s when you realized you were strapped down on a gurney. A belt held you down across your chest, another down across your hips, and another over your legs. Your wrists were bound on each side and your head was strapped, too. This seemed like overkill.

You tried to move, but was startled to realize how weak your limbs were. Even if they weren’t restrained, you knew you couldn’t lift them more than a couple inches off the bed. It felt like someone had pumped your body full of lead; heavy, draining, exhausting to even think of moving. Whoever did this really didn’t want you to leave.

With no other options, you decide to call out.

“Hey!” you shout. Your voice echoes back in the complete darkness. “Anyone? I know someone is at least on guard out there!”

Silence. Remnants of your echo whisper in the corners of the room. You close your eyes tightly, straining to listen for any movement. All you could hear was your own heartbeat. You take deep breaths, focusing on each thrum of your heart to control your adrenaline. Being shaky in a dangerous situation was just as good as pulling the trigger on yourself.

You dozed off without even realizing it. The sound of a door behind your gurney unlocking jolted you awake. Light poured in and you had to close your eyes tightly.

“Get yer hands of me!” a familiar voice grunts.

The protest is cut short as you hear a scuffle of hands and bodies behind you. There’s another grunt before you see a large body topple over to your side. The door slammed closed and you reopen your eyes. They’re not as adjusted to the dark as earlier, but they can pick up movement as the large figure next to you groans.

Hands reach out to the side of your gurney and you feel cold fingers wrap around your wrist. You shudder.

“I’m gettin’ you out of here, darlin’,” the figure hastily speaks. “Let me get you out.”

The fingers were stiff and clumsy as it worked at the buckles at your wrists. There’s a metallic clink and you hear the sound of a lock refusing to budge.

“McCree?” you whisper.

“It’s me darlin’,” he sounds terrified. “The shit they’re planning. I heard it all.”

You’ve never seen--or rather hear--him become so flustered before. He kept muttering to himself. Whatever he had heard, he was shaken up by it. He swore under his breath as he worked hard at your buckles, but to no avail. They must have locked every buckle down.

The door bursts open again and the lights flash on. You let out a yelp in pain as the lights harass your sight. It was so bright tears pin pricked the corners of your eyes. When you could finally squint and slowly look around you, you see that you were in a small room with white walls and cement floors. As you suspected, you were strapped down to the gurney. But what startled you was McCree’s appearance by your side.

A majority of McCree’s accessories were missing. He was stripped down to just his button-up which was missing a few buttons from a scuffle. His hat was missing and his hair was disheveled. His belt and boots were taken away from him, leaving him barefooted with bloodied jeans. Your eyes followed the trail of blood from his jeans to his shirt to see the source of the bleeding. His nose was badly bruised and his left eye was swollen shut. Blood came from cuts on his cheekbones and a split lip. Dried blood caked his nostrils. His fingers lingered over yours as you hear boots slowly approach.

Even in your weakened state, you do your best to comfort McCree. With as much strength that you could muster, you curl your fingers around McCree’s cold ones. He looks up at you with worry, sitting on his knees beside you.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers to you.

He looks up with a deadly glare. You weakly turn your head as much as you could with your head strapped down, but you didn’t need to.

Two women came into your view, looking down at you past the bright lights like you were some sort of lab rat under testing. One had short fiery hair with odd-colored eyes. They unnerved you. The other was an older woman, long hair pinned up in a bun. Her eyes were just as cold as the odd-colored eyes next to hers. They both wore white coats, latex gloves, and a mask.

“Hey baby,” the lady’s eyes twinkled dangerously. “Remember me?”

The gears in your mind turned, trying to recognize her. Was she from one of your many missions? Was this a vengeful coworker from Europe? Nothing was ringing a bell.

The woman with different eyes removed her mask with a scowl of annoyance. She _tsks_ as she pulls a medical tray up beside you. She takes a needle and flicks the air bubbles out.

“Pity your own daughter does not recognize her mother,” she speaks with an eerie rasp.

_Mother…?_

“Poor girl,” the woman smiles kindly down at you. She strokes your hair with such gentleness, it startles you. “It’s been many years since we last saw each other.”

Then, your eyes widen in recognition.

The woman who had cared for you in the testing lab from SEP. The woman who had gained your trust just to leave again.

This was your mother.

“You ain’t bringing that needle any closer to her!” McCree stands defensively, but you watch his legs buckle underneath him as he groans in pain.

“You shouldn’t try standing,” the woman claiming to be your mother warns. “We put some really strong muscle relaxers in your legs.”

“Then whatchu need me here for?” McCree barks.

“So you can watch history in the making,” the other woman responds. She lowers the needle in her hand toward your arm and you yell out her to stop.

To your surprise, she raises a curious brow and pauses right before the needle touches your skin.

“Can I at least know my mother’s name?” you whimper pitifully. The woman looked like she was about to protest, but the other stroking your hair shakes her head.

“She deserves to know,” she smiles. “I am Doctor Eliza Osterman. You, my baby, can call me Lisa.”

“Lisa,” you taste the name on your tongue. It’s bitter. You fake a pleasant smile. “I’m so glad to have finally met you.”

“Oh baby,” Lisa’s eyes shimmer as tears well up. She pulls down her mask and you’re stunned at how beautiful she was. You hear McCree groaning by your side, attempting to fight whatever they had done to him.

“I’ve sent out so many people to get you back to me,” Lisa continues, ignoring McCree’s surmounting noises of pain. “But that old man kept you away from me for so long. So, so long baby.”

You shudder as the other woman finally plunges the needle into your arm. The liquid entering your veins is oddly hot, like she was injecting boiling water into you. You look up at Lisa with pleading eyes.

“This is for you, baby,” she cooes. “Moira is going to take care of you, too. It’ll make you stronger.”

“I’m sleepy,” you whisper.

“Sleep, baby.”

McCree yells out your name, hands reaching out towards yours again. You hear him fall to his knees, but his hand clasps yours.

“Don’t do this to her!” he begs. “Don’t turn her into a monster!”

“A monster?” the woman named Moira barks out what seems like a laugh. Your vision starts to blur as the hot liquid starts compressing your brain.

“She has always been a monster.”

You must’ve made a face, because Lisa’s hand went from stroking your hair to wiping away hot tears from your cheeks.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispers to you softly. “Your mama’s here now. It’s going to be okay.”

“Please,” McCree begs. “Please don’t do this.”

He whispers your name in one more plea before the hot liquid takes over your mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the college wishes guys! It’s worKING


	14. Reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're still captured. You have to find a way out and soon.

Panic rose in your chest as you jolted awake, heart thudding hard and tears rolling freely down your cheeks. It took you a moment to realize your body was sore and cold. It took another moment to realize that you were lying face down in a cold, dark room dimly let. It almost looked like a small arena, complete with the blood splatters along the walls and floors.

“What the hell?” you question as you get up. Your joints ached. Your body was recovering from an adrenaline rush, but you had no memory of straining yourself.

“You are conscious,” a voice echoes through the arena. There must be a speaker hiding somewhere. It sounded like Lisa. “There you go, easy as you go.”

Your limbs shake as you regain your balance on your feet. It almost felt like you were learning how to walk again. The voice continues to guide you to walk again. It felt childish, but your body almost felt like you needed it.

“Do you know what you’re here for?” the voice asks.

“No,” you boldly respond. You look around, your eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. A lot of the blood were still shining and seemed slick. People have been fighting here. There’s an iron door opposite of you.

“We’re here to get some energy out of you,” Lisa’s voice cooes, but it echoes eerily off the bloodied walls. You shudder.

“Energy?” was all you could ask.

 

“That door is going to open,” she instructs. “Someone will come out of it. They will try to kill you. You have to defend yourself.”

You look around; there weren’t any weapons readily available and you were stripped down to plain cotton pants and a tank top. You didn’t even have shoes on; just a pair of soft white socks that were darkening from stepping in the dried blood and dirt around you.

“With what?” you protest. “Against who? Why should I even do this?”

“Because if you don’t,” you could hear Lisa’s smile. “You will die.”

The door opens and a shadowy figure emerges. They have an odd inhuman gait as they stumble towards you. You stagger back as the inhuman walking bolts towards you. The speed was startling and you backpedal so fast you nearly trip.

The figure comes into clear view. It was a shirtless man, skin sagging against his body like he hadn’t eaten in days, but there was an odd muscle structure underneath that it seemed forced. He was so anemic the sagging skin barely covered his bony fingers. His ribs were eerily visible. His head was shaved and his jaw was locked open, his drool uncontrollably flinging as he runs towards you.

You let out a startled scream as you try to get away, using your ability to check every corner within a fraction of a second. The walls were slick and there weren’t any levers. The only door was the iron one you saw the man emerge out of. You tried tugging on it, but it wouldn’t budge. It was electronically locked; impossible to get through without a button. You inspect the opposite wall; there had to be a secret passage, anything!

Running your hands along the walls, your fingers gets caught on something. You try to press and pry, but your fingertips couldn’t get a grasp on the material.

A bony hand wrapped itself around your wrist. You yelp, startled. You spin around to see that somehow, the man had caught up to you. His chest heaved like he had run a marathon. Air wheezed past his teeth like he was dying. That’s when it hit you.

This man was dying. They tested on him, forced him to work so much that he was inevitably going to die. You were just speeding up the process.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to him, but his eyes were glazed over. They seemed like they couldn’t understand you; any form of humanity left from his body.

With a swift twist, you grasp each side of his head and snap at his neck. The man collapses too easily in a pile of bones and skin at your feet. Your heart is pounding again, icy cold claws of fear wrapping its horrible grasp in your stomach, making it hard to breathe.

You hear the iron doors creak open behind you. You spin around, fear’s grasp crawling up to your chest and throat. You had to remind yourself to breathe.

Another man came out, but this time, it was familiar. He approached you with as inhuman of speed as the last man, but his hair was a little longer. His eyes glowed red and he looked fit.

“Gabriel!” you yelp as he shoves you against the wall.

Reyes’ hands were cold and hot at the same time, his hand squeezing around your throat and keeping you held against the cold wall. His nails dug into your skin. It surely broke the surface. You feel liquid trickle from the wound as proof.

“Gah--bre’l,” you whimper out. 

You didn’t want to hurt him. You couldn’t, but if you didn’t do anything _right now_ , you were going to die. He had that glare in his eyes when you first saw him back at the farm. McCree said something about him being sick. Maybe you can snap him out again.

For now, you had to fight for your life.

You swing your legs up to latch it around his hips. Normally, this would be wildly inappropriate. But now, you bring him closer. His eyes widen briefly, a flicker of humanity and unwant before it faded away just as quickly as it showed. It unbuckled his elbow against your throat.

With his elbow slightly giving way, you use a free hand and slam into the joint. He lets go with a growl and you drop to your feet. You get under him and shove your head against his jaw while you point your elbow at his sternum. The double impact caused him to stagger back. You sweep a leg out low to trip him, but he kicks back at your feet, causing you to lose your balance and slam on your back.

“It’s me, Gabe!” you yell. “You’re my uncle! You were Jack’s friend!”

“Jack,” he growls. “Jaaaaack.”

“Yes,” you desperately plea.

Suddenly, he slams his heel into your chest. Air wheezes out of you and you place your hands on his feet, desperately trying to push him off. You couldn’t breathe.

“Jack is dead,” he snarls.

“It’s me,” you whimper one last time. Black spots start to fleck around your vision. His heavy foot was suffocating you.

With what you thought would be your last breath, you whisper out your name.

“Morrison,” you whimper. “It’s me. I’m the Morrison kid.”

Another flicker of recognition flashes behind his eyes. It faded again and you close your eyes, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the realization that you were going to die here in a dead man’s grasp. How ironic was that?

The pressure lightened on your chest. You open your eyes and start with a gasp as air was suddenly allowed into your system. You sit up and hunch over, pressing a hand against the sore spot on your chest as air rattled your ribs. The familiar feeling was almost refreshing.

“Morrsion’s kid,” you hear him rasp above you. You look up to meet his still-glowing red eyes, but his brows were arched worriedly.

“ _Bebesita? _” he whispers unsurely. You nod as a cough pulls itself out of your body, disliking the sudden intrusion of an abundance of air.__

__He falls to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your body, unsure where he could touch you or if he even should touch you. You stare at his hunched form. Just as before, he had an eerie aura about him, but he seemed much more humane than before. But now was not the time for a reunion. You had to get his help, fast, before this wears off again._ _

__“Gabe,” you say urgently. You wince, the fluctuation of your diaphragm to form words pressing against your now-bruised ribs._ _

__“They have McCree,” you fight through the pain. “I need to get him out of here.”_ _

__Reyes’ eyes searches yours before he nods. He helps you up, looping an arm around your waist and the other supporting your other arm over his neck. He hobbles you carefully to the iron door. Much to your surprise, a small scanner blipped from the handle. He presses his hand on it and the door clicks open._ _

__“What are you doing!” Lisa’s voice shrieked over the intercom. You shudder; her voice was grating. “Mo--Moira! What is he doing!”_ _

__“We must move fast, _mija_ ,” Reyes whispers in your ear. “I know where they have McCree. It’s in a cell in the boiler room. I’ll open the way. When you grab him, you must run.”_ _

__“But what about you?” you protest, but the alarms had sounded._ _

__“Hold still, my baby,” Lisa cooes. Her sudden changes in attitude was eerie nonetheless. “Mama’s coming!”_ _

__The door Reyes led you through opened up to a row of corridors. They were all dimly-lit save for the last room. It was much like a tunnel, but something about it reminded you of a horror movie._ _

__“Straight down,” he urges. “Third room down, take a left. Down the stairs, take a right. McCree is chained up in there.”_ _

__There’s a loud thud behind you. Another door to your right. The light turns on behind the window. Reyes places his hands surely on your shoulders and gives you a shove._ _

__“Go!” he hisses._ _

__“What about you?” you stagger, but quickly regain your balance. You’re still moving your feet, but not nearly as fast as you should be going._ _

__“I’m already a dead man,” he rasps. There’s a pinch of sorrow in his voice, but you didn’t have the time to analyze it._ _

__He gives you a curt nod. You nod back, biting your lip to prevent yourself from tearing up again._ _

__“Thank you,” you whisper._ _

__Before he could fully turn around to face the light that suddenly poured in from the door, you bolted in the other direction. Your legs felt oddly light, faster, easier to run. Perhaps that other doctor injected some form of steroids into you. It was a strange rush of adrenaline, but you had to ignore it._ _

__Within seconds, you make it to the third door down. You obeyed Reyes’ instructions to turn and to take the stairs. You take a right to emerge into a heavy room full of trapped steam. The sudden humidity instantly caused you to sweat. The room was lit with a single red light as boilers hissed._ _

__You scan the room to see McCree’s hunched figure against the wall. He was so weak that they didn’t even bother tying him up. He was shirtless, body drenched in a thick layer of grime, blood, and sweat. His face was beaten and swollen. Lacerations ate away at his skin across his arms and his back._ _

__“McCree,” you whisper. You kneel before him, wiping a strand of hair from his face. “McCree, we have to go.”_ _

__McCree’s eyes slowly open, but they’re glazed over. He’d seen a lot and his body had gone through enough stress. But you had to get him out fast._ _

__Slowly, he raises an enclosed fist. You watch him with curiosity, waiting patiently to regain his bearings. He opens his fist and it revealed a small communicator; one you would put in your ear._ _

__“I took this,” he says breathily. “From Moira.”_ _

__“Moira?” you echo._ _

__“The other woman,” he motions with his hands to motion a small-figured person._ _

__“Her name’s Moira,” you confirm. He nods weakly. He touches the communicator and hands it to you._ _

__“Emergency,” he whispers._ _

__Immediately understanding, you lift the communicator to your ear. You press a couple buttons and the robotic voice asks for a number or a contact name. You mutter the code to the communicator. It beeps one._ _

___“Thank you for calling Jordan’s Pudding Company! How may I help you?”_ the overly cheery voice responds._ _

__“Agent Nine, three-one-one,” you reply. “We don’t have much time.”_ _

___“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number! Have a great day!”_ _ _

__The line goes dead. You wait a moment for the communicator to confirm its location before taking it out of your ear. You drop it between you and McCree and crush it with your foot._ _

__“We have to go now,” you say to him. “I can move you quickly, but I’ll need your help.”_ _

__McCree weakly nods. He grunts as you lean over to help him up. He moans in pain as you lift him to his feet. Every little movement seemed to be horribly painful for him._ _

__“Be strong,” you encourage. You can hear footsteps coming down the hall. From what you remember from your journey here, the third room where you had turned also had an exit. That was where you had to go._ _

__You carefully guide his head to lean up against your shoulder. You hold him tightly around the waist, locking your arms around him with your hands on your forearms. He guides his lacerated arms back around your shoulders, keeping his head pressed against your shoulder._ _

__“Keep your head down,” you whisper. “The whiplash can snap your neck if you move, okay?”_ _

__Your reply wasn’t verbal, but he presses close to your body. The poor man was on the brink of consciousness. You could only hope he would hold on just a little longer until help finally arrived._ _

__With your speed, you make to the exit. There was a heavy door that possibly led outdoors, but it was bolted shut. McCree slumps heavily against you; he had passed out.You struggle to keep him up as you shove against the door._ _

__There’s a telltale sign of an engine on the other side of the door. You couldn’t tell if it was to an aircraft or just some generators, but it was worth the risk. With your free arm, you begin pounding hard against the door. You could feel bruising on the side of your hand as you tried to make the loudest noise possible._ _

__Much to your relief, the bolt clicked and it slid open. You and McCree fall through together, light beating down on the both of you. You hadn’t realized it was daylight already. You look up, expecting to see Overwatch boots. But to your dismay, Lisa smiles down at the two of you._ _

__“Hey, my baby,” she cooes. “Where are you going?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAH this chapter is so damn chaotic. Boiii get yo seatbelts on because DADDY'S COMIN~! (not in a kinky way)


	15. Help Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help arrives...but what damage has already been done?

You pull yourself free from underneath the deadweight of McCree. You were outdoor now, sitting outside of an underground laboratory. And Lisa stood tall in front of you, looking down her nose at you with an eerie grin.

“Where are you going?” she repeats.

You make yourself get up on all fours before standing up straight. She doesn’t flinch and only her eyes follow your movement. Her smile doesn’t fade as you sneer back at her.

“Home,” you growl.

“You are home,” she croons. She reaches up to seemingly caress your cheek.

Within a fraction of a second, you grab her wrist and you squeeze. Hard.

An unknown amount of strength coursing through your veins, Lisa’s smile falters to a frown. She doesn’t shriek in pain; she barely even winces. Instead, she glares at you with such hatred that it sent a cold chill down your spine.

There’s a sickening snap that came from your hand. You could feel your fingers cave in closer together where her bone snapped in half. She eerily still does not wince. She does not let out a cry. She does not even show pain in her face.

What flickered across her face was full rage. Her hand raises and, at an impossible speed, strikes you across your cheek. Your head snaps from the impact, her nail catching onto your skin and you can feel the sting as she claws your skin. You let go, startled at her speed; terrified of the amount of strength you suddenly possessed.

With this new information in mind, you staggered back. You take a moment to lean over and collect McCree back into your arms as Lisa approaches you. Her hand hangs awkwardly at her side as she raises her hand again. This one had a sharp needle protruding from it. The bottle of the syringe was hidden in her palm, but your instincts told you it’s contents wasn’t just saline.

“This time,” she smiles again. “I will recreate you.”

Panic swells in your chest as you easily hoist McCree up on his feet. His eyes flutter open briefly before closing, but it was long enough for him to push against you.

Without another choice, you turn and run with McCree in tow. His head tucked down against you. You barely make it indoors when Moira appears before you, stopping in your tracks within a dark cloud.  
The ominous smoke around her body dissipates around her eerie odd eyes. You shudder to a stop, holding McCree protectively closer to you. The man lets out a whimper as you move him.

“We are not done yet,” she rumbles.

She raises a hand to reveal a syringe. She flicks it to make sure there aren’t any air bubbles. What a courteous woman.

 

You turn around to escape, but Lisa blocks your way. You look at her limp wrist to see that it was barely swollen; a flicker of a sign that she was once injured. Your eyes narrow in realization that she had regeneration properties.

“Hold still, baby,” Lisa cooes. “It’ll hurt more if you don’t.”

A silent arrow pierced her arm. Moira stops her pursuit with the syringe as Lisa looks down at the damage. You were just as confused, your eyes following the length of the arrow to see a cable attached to the other end. It was pulled taut. The cable quivered as Lisa began to stagger backwards.

Watching her being dragged away by the mysterious arrow was enough to snap you out of it. You face Moira in time to see her hand come down with the syringe. McCree suddenly shifts in front of you, blocking the needle with his mechanical arm. There’s a ping of metal clashing against each other as McCree groans, the motion pulling against in wound. You feel hot blood trickle down the arm that held him to you.

There is the familiar ponding of a pulse rifle shooting off behind you. Moira’s head snaps up at the commotion, a frown tugging at her thin lips. You take this as an advantage to run past her to seek out a second exit.

Just when you thought you were in the clear, a familiar face appeared down the dim hallways. His eyes flashed red and his skin sickly grey, like a corpse that came back to life. You mentally steel yourself to face off with Reyes again.

But instead, he motions to a corridor to the left of you. He doesn’t speak. You turn your head to see that it leads down a darker, narrower hallway. There must be an exit there. You look back, your lips parted to ask him, but the man had disappeared.

“Come on,” you urge to McCree. “Almost there.”

There’s a loud commotion of fighting behind you. An angry roar from your father sent adrenaline through your body. Lisa’s laugh echoed closer down the halls. You quickly make your way into the dark hallway, hoping that Reyes had not betrayed you.

You suddenly felt your limbs grow weak. Lack of sleep and food had finally caught up to you. Your adrenaline wasn’t enough to combat the crash from whatever they had injected into your body. That serum must’ve been the culprit to your sudden surge of energy and strength. It chilled you to realize you were able to crush bone in your hand; that was something that it took even Jack a lot of concentration and energy to succeed.

McCree must’ve sensed your weakening state as he tries his best to lean some of his weight off of you. When your feet began to drag, he spoke up.

“Leave me,” he says.

“What?” you scoff.

“Leave me here,” he repeats. “I’m dead weight to you.”

“We’re almost there,” you urge. “Hold on.”

“You’re tired, darlin’,” he whispers. “I’m tired, too. I lost a lot of blood.”

You knew what he meant. He felt too weak to keep going. He _wanted_ to rest.

You settle him down gently on the floor. He grunts as he slides down the wall for support before grabbing his arms. They leaked a steady stream of blood. All of the movement had caused the lacerations to reopen. You bit your lip, feeling guilty and unsure of what to do.

A sharp pain shot through your shoulder. You let out a startled cry, hunching forward before turning around to see who had attacked you. McCree weakly lolls his head back, eyes wide with concern and the familiar feeling of helplessness. You clutch your left shoulder, pain screaming as hot liquid began to run out.

Lisa holds a smoking handgun with a grin on her lips. She slowly lowers it, her finger still on the trigger as she approaches you. You take a step back, but she tsks and shakes her head. Keeping an eye on her gun, you stop yourself from cowering. Her arm was healing, the stain on her sleeves the only sign of a wound.

Where’s Jack?

“Oh, baby,” she says in a sing-song voice. “My little baby. Don’t run away from me.”

“So you shoot me?” you spit back. “What a great fucking mom.”

“That’s just the adrenaline talking,” she shakes her head woefully, like she was scourning a small child. “Come on, baby. Let’s lay you back down. You must be so sleepy after the day you had.”

Lisa takes a step forward. You take a step back. Her hand with the gun twitches, but restrains from rising. Her smile is as eerie as the room; dark, dangerous, uncertain.

A sudden light explodes behind her. It knocks you on your ass, scuffling back toward McCree and covering his body with your own. You close your eyes as you feel debris hit your spine and shoulder. When the smoke was barely starting to settle, you raise your head. Tears threatened to spill in your weakened state at the sight.

A battered Jack Morrison stood in the clearing smoke. His mask was missing and he had a cut on his cheek. His jacket was filthy as though he was buried alive. His pulse rifle glowed from executing powerful rockets.

“Get the _fuck_ away from my daughter,” he growls.

Lisa lay in the dirt. She swiftly picks herself up before letting out a guttural laugh. Her gun was still in her hand, pointing it at you and McCree. You glowered, trying to show a brave face.

“Ah,” she laughs. “You still want to play hero? I’m surprised you haven’t died.”

“I’m too old to die,” was his rebuttal before charging at the other woman.

Lisa dodges his bullets. You lean over McCree again as they narrowly miss you. Jack ceases fire when he sees how close in proximity he was to you. He seems to call out a command, or perhaps it was just a yell in defiance, but he keeps Lisa busy. You barely watch them spar hand-to-hand, keeping each other’s guns from firing at the other.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder and jerks you up on your feet. You see McCree be lifted by his armpits as you’re pushed by that same hand.

“Move!” a deep voice commands.

“Hanzo?” you try turning around, but the hand shoves you again, keeping your momentum in a staggering brisk pace.

“I have to carry him,” the voice barks back. “Keep moving. I do not have time to carry you, too.”

The demand was enough. Your feet were numb. The adrenaline was leaving your limbs and replaced it with lead. You felt like you were dragging your feet, blindly running forward past the grunts and smoke.

“Duck!” Hanzo commands.

Your body moves before your mind fully processes what he says. You turn your head away and curl your back away as the wall on the far side explodes. It created a large hole in the wall where you could barely see a slim figure slip through with mechanical wings supporting her from leaning too far in.

“Come,” her sweet voice was like music to your ears. She had a hand reached out towards you. “Take my hand.”

It took less than a minute to climb out, your hand grasping firmly in Angela’s. She pulls you back in with a surprising amount of strength. You shake in her grasp as you finally emerge into the sunlight.

It was too bright. Way too bright. It brought pain to your eyes so severe you had to squeeze them shut. Your head banged with an instant migraine, like someone dropping an anvil on your head several times with each pulse.

You vaguely remember watching Hanzo load McCree into the ship. You barely feel the IV that stung into your arm. You don’t hear the words Jack was saying to you as the ship took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all my brain is so fried . I legit don’t remember writing this chapter it’s so chaotic I’m so sorryyyyyy


	16. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your road to recovery is slow. But that's not the most painful part.

The light streams in gently through thin curtains. The windows were propped open, letting in a soft warm breeze. It was so refreshing.

It wasn’t painful to open your eyes. It was slow, filtering the world through your eyelashes before focusing on the cream-colored ceiling. The familiar smell of bacon and hot chocolate sifted into the room. Your eyes fully opened to realize you were in your room.

Indiana.

You tried to sit up, but pain shoots through your entire body. Pins and needles chase down your legs and your hands.

“Hey,” a voice gently speaks. “You’re awake.”

At the door, Jack stood. He was wearing comfortable jeans and a loose t-shirt. In his hands were a tray. You could see the steaming mug and the stereotypical midwestern meal of hash browns, eggs exactly like you like it, and bacon. Your mouth waters before he sets the tray on the nightstand next to your bed.

Without hesitation, he swiftly moves from the nightstand and leans over you. He hooks his arms gently around your shoulders and pulls you up. The pins and needles get worse temporarily before he quickly shifts a pillow to support your back and lay you back down. You sigh involuntarily as you relax.

He shifts again to pull your desk chair next to the bed. He places the tray over your legs and sits next to you. He waits patiently as you begin to eat a little too quickly.

“What happened?” you finally speak after several bites.

“You were sick,” Jack speaks slowly. You knew this tone of voice. “You were really, really sick.”

“I’m okay now,” you laugh, but you end up coughing. The pain shuddered through your ribs like a bear in a cage. Jack looked on worriedly, but you settled down and finished your food.

“That was about three days ago,” he breathes. “I begged Angela to let me take you home in case--”

This caused you to stop chewing. You looked him in the eyes to see they were full of mixed emotions; worry, relief, disbelief…The icy blue eyes brimmed with tears.

“I’m here,” you whisper. You reach over and grasp his hand. They’re cold, but he holds your hand back tightly.

“I’m just glad you made it out,” he sighs.

There’s another pause as he patiently waits for you to finish your food. You were in no hurry and took your time sipping the hot chocolate to wash down greasy comfort food. It was right when you drank the last drop of hot chocolate when the doorbell chirped.

“Who in the hell?” Jack questions as he stands up. He makes a loud grunt as he pushes himself up on his feet. He shuffles his way out the door, seemingly to hope it was a salesman who would go away by the time he got to the doors.

There’s a long moment of waiting and some hushed whispers. You decide to tune them out; your head rolled back onto the pillow and let out a heavy sigh. Your head wasn’t throbbing as hard. You were a little sore from being in bed too long, but otherwise, you felt fine.

You can hear footsteps quietly marching back up the steps. Following Jack’s heavy footsteps was another pair of faint steps. The door to your room slides open slowly to see Jack’s discerning expression before seeing the shorter man behind him.

Much to your surprise, Hanzo stood behind him. In his hands, he held an orchid carefully planted in a small pot. He eyes Jack carefully before approaching your bed. Jack waits at the door, hesitant to leave. Hanzo waits for him to part, but when Jack doesn’t move, he simply sighs before turning to you.

“I’m surprised you came,” you say quietly.

“I uh,” Hanzo hesitates. He holds out the orchid awkwardly. “Fully bloomed. It is from my hometown.”

You smile in thanks as you reach out to take it from him. Your sore arms felt heavy as you took the plant carefully from his hands. Jack appears at your side to remove the tray. He offers a hand to also take the plant. You hand it to him and watched him perch it on your windowsill. He leaves to put the dishes up. 

“I was worried,” Hanzo admits. “You were not in good condition last I saw you.”

“How did you know I was awake?” you joke.

“I didn’t,” he purses his lips. “I had...come to say…” He bites back his words. You knew what he had intended.

“How’s McCree?” you ask.

Hanzo flinches at the mention of his name. His eyes cast down to your kiddie pony quilt Jack’s grandma had quilted when he had announced that he had a daughter. You felt a flash of embarrassment as he stared at your childhood quilt. He doesn’t seem to register the blanket either way.

“He recovered relatively quickly,” he speaks in a monotone voice as though he was reporting to you. “He has been elusive to everyone.”

Elusive? What did that mean?

“He does not leave his room often,” Hanzo says. It startled you, wondering if you had accidentally asked the thought aloud. “Angela had told us to allow him to recover.”

You fall silent. You fidget with your blanket.

“Sorry for troubling you,” you whisper.

“No,” Hanzo shakes his head. His eyes finally meet yours. They’re full of worry; an expression you had never seen from him. “I was concerned we would lose you.”

For some reason, this confession made your heart race. It was almost like adrenaline, but it felt warm--exciting. It must’ve shown on your face because Hanzo’s lips tugged into a gentle smile. If you blinked, you would’ve missed it.

“I was worried,” he continues. 

He reaches forward for your hand. Frozen in place, you let him take your hand. He raises it to his lips and you feel his beard tickle your skin. His lips are warm against your knuckles as he gently kisses your hand. When he pulls away, he doesn’t let go. He leans over you, taking you in and sighing. You suddenly wished you had a moment to shower and freshen up first.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs.

“But,” you suppress a laugh. “I’m a mess.”

“You are beautiful even now,” he smiles again. Your chest grows tight. Was it longing? Was it flattery? You couldn’t tell, but you enjoyed it.

“Away from the bed,” a stern voice growls.

Hanzo doesn’t leap back as you’d expect. He simply stands up straight and looks over his shoulder to meet Jack’s gaze. He turns back to you, his smile now faded.

“I must help determine the intentions behind your attack with Pharah,” he uses as an excuse. His hand slips out of yours and he takes large strides out of the room. Within seconds, he was gone. You hear the front door close before Jack takes Hanzo’s place by your side.

“Lisa is alive?” you whisper with disbelief. 

 

“Unfortunately, she was rescued by Moira and they both got away,” he grunts. “We’ve been trying to track them down ever since.”

There were bags under his eyes and his sclera was reddened. He hadn’t slept in days. You didn’t know why you hadn’t caught on until now. The poor man was working himself to the bone trying to watch over you, protect you, and avenge you if it came to it.

“I want to help,” you say determinedly. You try to sit up, but Jack pushes you gently back down. You narrow your eyes at him, but he shakes his head.

“You are helping me by staying in bed so I don’t have to worry,” he sighs heavily, but his eyes shone like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “I have to run a couple errands. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Jack leaves you alone to your thoughts, but you felt how tired you were and could feel the buzzing of excitement die down in your veins, leaving you to slip into the darkness once more.

* * *

_Jack was frozen in place after the words that came out of Vincent’s mouth. And in front of the girl, too._

_He stomped past Vincent as he attempted to block the main door to keep him from leaving. Vincent glared daggers, his hand firmly on a suitcase and a backpack haphazardly slung over his shoulder. His eyes were puffy from crying and his cheeks red from yelling. He had enough, but so had Jack._

_“You do not treat me like this!” he barks. “You do not speak to me like that!”_

_“You can’t treat me like this, either!” Vincent scoffs. His voice was hoarse, but he still intimidated the little girl hiding around the corner. “You speak down to me like I’m one of your subordinates. This isn’t your job, Jack! This is your family!”_

_“I-I don’t!” he defends himself. “But you can’t just leave us!”_

_“Jack,” Vincent’s voice was calmer now, but stern. It quivered as he bit back more tears. “This isn’t just about me anymore. You need to learn that you can’t always choose work over people who are close to you. What about her?” He waves a hand behind him in her general direction._

_“What about her?” Jack narrows his eyes, standing up straighter and his arms crossing. “Are you saying I’m being a bad father?”_

_“Yeah, you are,” Vincent says coldly. “What are you going to do when she grows older? She’ll get wise to your little white lies and she’s going to get tired of it pretty damn fast. Do you want that kind of life for her? Coming home to an empty house, taking care of herself, nobody to ask homework questions.”_

_“It won’t get to that,” Jack growls. “We can work this out--”_

_“I’m done, Jack,” Vincent speaks softly now, his shoulders slumping. He has to adjust the backpack on his shoulder._

_He brushes past Jack and doesn’t even glance over his shoulder as he walks out._

_Jack falls to his knees, slumped down as he leans up against the door, sitting cross-legged to avoid the inevitable joint pain if he sat on his knees. He squeezes his eyes shut, holding back the burning sensation of emotion bubbling in his chest. He doesn’t open his eyes as he hears pitter-patter of feet come close to him. He knew if he looked her in the eye, he would burst into tears. Right now, he needed to be strong._

_He feels a soft blanket be haphazardly laid across his lap. He hears her soft breathing and gentle grunts as she sets up the blanket so that it bunched up perfectly to make a pillow. She lays down next to him and he feels her head rest on the pillow._

_Finally, he opens his eyes and his gaze drifts down._

_She had created a pillow out of her blanket as he had suspected in his lap. She had created a makeshift bed as to not be alone, or perhaps to even comfort him in her own way. Either way, it was heartwarming. He strokes her hair and her breathing pattern changes as she begins to fall asleep._

_Once she was asleep, he watched his tears silently fall on her shirt._

_Without her, he would be lost._

* * *

You wake up slowly to see that it was dark outside. A fresh cup of water was placed on your nightstand along with your phone resting on its charger. You pull your phone off the nightstand to see that you had no new notifications, which slightly disappointed you. Then again, Jack probably threatened everyone to leave you alone.

It takes you a moment to register that it was a little before midnight. Feeling anxiety and loneliness suddenly grip you, you scroll through your contacts to see whom you can contact at this hour.

You could call your father, but if he was asleep, you wanted him to rest.

Lena was a night owl. You tried calling her, but her phone was out of range. Her voicemail was quirky, but informed you that she was overseas on a mission and to leave a message that she can get back to. You hang up before the beep and keep scrolling. You try Fareeha, but her phone immediately sends you to voicemail; busy or dead. She had a bad habit of letting it die for hours before it gains any charge again.

Finally, your thumb stops and hesitates over McCree’s name and number. His profile picture was a selfie he had taken with your phone when you left it on Jack’s desk for an hour. It was an unflattering angle of his face, the camera facing upwards and his neck pushed back to show double-chin somewhat hidden behind his messy beard and you can see clear up his hairy nostrils. His teeth flashed in an awkward grin and his eyes wide in fake surprise. It was goofy, but it made you smile.

You stare at the circle of his horrible profile picture before your eyes began to drift close again. The recovery was taking a lot out of your body, leaving you more fatigued than you had felt before.

In your moment of drifting off, your thumb slips past the screen. And to your horror, the phone flashed “CALLING JESSE MCCREE”.

In a panic, you were about to hang up with the dial tone stopped. There was silence, and then a saddened, deep, yet raspy voice.

“Hello?”

You were wide awake now, sitting up before grunting to lay back down, a sharp pain in your side and head forcing you to lie back down.

He says your name questioningly, like he was unsure who called him.

“Hey,” was your clever response. “How...how are you?”

There’s an odd silence from his end before you hear a long, heavy sigh.

“I only picked up so I can talk about somethin’,” he says. He’s speaking so quietly you have to strain your ear, pressing the phone tighter against your flesh to hear him.

“Yeah?” you try to smile, but your voice falters.

“I need--” he cuts himself off. You hear him mutter something, but then he clears his throat. “I need to know where we stand after all that.”

“Where we stand?” you feign a laugh. “You know I care about you, McCree. Shit, what we went through with Lisa should prove to you that I--”

“I want more,” he speaks louder now, bolder. Your heart leaps into your throat, face flushing as his stern voice resonated within you. “I don’t want to be just teammates.”

“McCree, I--”

He cuts you off by barking your name.

“Dammit, you can’t even call me by my first name,” he sighs. “I can’t keep playin’ this game anymore. After seein’ how you risked yourself for little ole’ me? After how much shit I went through to protect you?”

“Mc--Jesse,” you try to speak, but the name rolled oddly off your tongue. “I can’t just outwardly say what we are just yet--”

“Then right now,” he says. “Right now, what are we? Friends? Colleagues? Do I have a chance to be more?”

“Be more?” you murmur. “Jesse, I don’t...I don’t think I understand.”

“You know what I mean,” he sighs. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m crazy about you. I nearly died for you.”

“Then why haven’t you come see me?” you retort.

There’s a long silence on the other end. It dragged so long that you glanced at your phone to make sure that he was still on the line. You press the phone back against your ear, straining to hear any breathing.

“I’m on my way,” he says so quickly you nearly miss it, and the line goes dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus, y'all. I took some time off from social media and writing to focus on my classes and my mental health, but I'm more active now! It feels good to be writing again.


	17. Jesse, Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're met with an ultimatum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the end note for an important announcement on this fic!

You lay in complete darkness, occasionally waking your phone to check the time. Midnight came and went and it got harder to keep your eyes open. You leaned forward to grab the cup of water and haphazardly drank from it. In your current state, you spill water all over yourself before giving up after the first few sips and placed it back on the nightstand.

Darkness was just about to consume you again when a large hand gently shakes you awake. Your eyes snap open to see a familiar figure in the darkness. You hurriedly grab your phone and turn on the flashlight function.

Jesse McCree flinches at the sudden change of light before he leans back away. He doesn’t say anything for a moment before realizing he was in the presence of a wounded soldier. He takes off his hat and places it over his chest.

“Glad to see you,” he finally breathes. His shoulder lowers as he speaks as though he was holding his breath this entire time. You offer a small smile. That’s when you realize that you still haven’t had a moment to clean up due to the mysterious pain spreading within your body. But that seemed to be the last thing on McCree’s mind as his eyes drift over your exhausted features.

“You, too,” you reply quietly. You can see that the lacerations on his arms were nothing but pink scars now, but it looks like they would heal over nicely. His once-busted face had fully healed. “How did you get in?”

“I’m an ex-crook,” he fakes a smile. “I’m...sorry I didn’t come sooner. Angela said Morrison took you home in case you didn’t…”

“Why does everyone think I was going to die?” you huff. You try to keep your voice down, but being tired and in constant pain left you cranky. “Was I really that bad?”

McCree stares at you for a long moment. He chews his bottom lip before motioning to the side of the bed. You scoot your legs over to give him some room and he sits where your legs once were. He fidgets with the hat in his hands, contemplating what to say next. 

“You really don’t know?” he asks quietly.

Your eyes gaze over his now-healed lacerations. Now that you thought about it, how much time had passed? Could it just be modern medicine had helped him recover faster?

“It’s been nearly a week,” he could barely utter. “They did everything they could, but not even Angela could diagnose you. All ‘o’ yer vitals were damn low. You were burnin’ up for so long, they were thinking you weren’t going to last another day.”

Now it was your turn to nervously chew on your lip. You stopped when you realized the tic, but began to fidget with your hands.

“Morrison took you home about two days ago,” McCree quietly continues. “To...see if you would be more comfortable at home.”

You let the information sink in for a moment. A brush with death, yet you weren’t even aware of it. Being in that jet could’ve been your last moments.

…But that didn’t matter now. Lisa was still out there and you were feeling fine now. And you had to do something about it.

“I have to get better,” you finally say, breaking the tense silence. “I need to find Lisa and her cohort. I have to get some answers of what they need from me so I can fight back.”

“That’s brave of you, darlin’,” he barely smiles. “But I didn’t come here to talk about what happened. I came here to talk about what _will_ happen.”

“Will happen?” you echo softly. He turns so that he was facing you, the hat resting on your lap as he readjusts on the bed.

“Give me a chance,” he whispers your name. “Let me help you.Take care of you. I already showed you how far I’d go to protect you.”

“What if that’s exactly what I don’t want?” you sigh, your chest growing tight. “I come with more trouble than you think. You’ll have to deal with Jack, you’ll have to be hunted for even knowing me.”

“I’ve had bounties on my head since I was a teen,” he leans forward, resting his hands on each side of your head.

His eyes searched yours for a long moment. And even in this dim lighting, you could see the deep brown that you’d gotten lost in before. They were shining with hope, brows furrowed in worry and concern. Whatever you’ve done, for whatever reason, this cowboy cared about you more than he probably should. And you weren’t sure what to do with that.

When you don’t answer, he leans forward. You think he’s about to kiss you, but he simply rests his chin against your shoulder. His hair tickles your face as he burrows his face into your neck.

“Don’t answer yet,” he whispers. “Just...hold me?”

The request caught you off-guard. You hesitate for a moment as his man was half-on your body, supporting most of his body weight on his forearms.You gently wrap your arms over his shoulders, pulling him in tight. You feel his body shudder as his lips curled up into a smile.

“You’re strong,” he cooes. He holds you closer, scooting his arms in so that you were trapped under him.

After a few moments, you relax to feel his lips press against your neck, searching for that sweet spot. When he hears your breath hitch, he kisses that spot repeatedly before working his way up your chin. He hesitates as he reaches your lips, his mouth ghosting over yours.

His breath is hot against yours, waiting patiently. When you lean up to meet his lips, he hungrily kisses back. He lets out a deep sound from the back of his throat as he shifts on top of you. His hips rest against your thigh. When his tongue slips past your lips, you feel him throb against you. It sent a shudder of excitement in your body. It reacts with an aching pain.

He feels you flinch and pulls back reluctantly, his lips shining in the light from the mixture of yours and his saliva. Knowing this made you feel oddly turned on. He still doesn’t smile, however, and his eyes look even sadder.

“I can’t…” he breathes, pulling his hips away so you didn’t feel his arousal anymore. He seemed ashamed to be turned on so quickly by just kissing you. “I can’t keep doin’ this, darlin’.”

You want to answer. You want to say something, but anxiety kept a grip on your throat. You couldn’t reply, in fact, you weren’t quite sure what to say. He leans forward again, his lips pressing against yours so gently that it was like he was going to break you if he pressed against you any harder.

“I want more,” he whispers against your lips. “I want so much more.”

“I want…” you pause, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Shh,” he silences you by kissing you again. “You don’t have to say anything. Just show me.”

He presses against you again before tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Your aching body desperately tries to keep up, but you run your hands up his body. You can feel his heart rate pick up, his body warming at your touch. You intertwine your fingers in his long locks, pushing him closer to you before he lets out a small groan.

“Ow, darlin’,” he feigns a chuckle. “You’re pressin’ a little too hard.”

You don’t realize that you were hurting him. You didn’t even realize that you’d gotten so...strong. You thought that the snap of Lisa’s wrist was just a fluke...or perhaps a reaction from adrenaline.

“Mc...I mean...Jesse,” you whisper. “Something is going on with me and I don’t think if now is the time…”

“Oh, you’re probably still feelin’ like crap and I’m just sittin’ here on you,” McCree smiles before pulling away, sitting up on his hands rather than his forearms.

You hear rustling outside your door and McCree freezes in place. He places a finger over his lips as he slinks off your body. He was oddly stealthy for a cowboy in spurs. He presses against the wall next to the door just in case Jack opened it. You see his chest heave as he let out the air in his body to remain silent.

A shadow stops at your door before you hear a hesitant knock. You look at McCree, wondering what to do. He gives you a nod and you stare for a moment before leaning over to turn off the flashlight of your phone.

“Sweetheart?” you hear Jack speak through the door. It’s deep, like he had just woken up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry!” you call back. “I was just…” You make brief eye contact with McCree. “...going back to sleep soon.”

“All right,” you hear him yawn. “Call my phone if you need me. I have it on me.”

“Thanks,” you reply.

“Good night,” you hear him fight another yawn before pattering away.

McCree emerges from his hiding spot with a cocky smirk on his lips. He settles next to the bed again, pulling back a strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear.

“Jesse,” you exhale. “I’m not sure now is the time to just...decide to be with you.”

“I’m not asking you to commit to me,” he replies, his smirk fading from his face. “I’m asking you to...not see other people.”

“Not see other people?” you scoff.

Despite your body’s protests, you grunt as you force yourself to sit up. McCree quickly helps, holding you up until you tuck a pillow behind your back to help you sit up straight without using a lot of energy. 

“Who do you think I’m ‘seeing’?”

“I know about Hanzo,” he admits. “I’ve known fer a while. I don’t know why and I can’t tell you what he can provide for you. He’s mentally unstable, he’s got a lot of shit to work out before he can even--”

“Jesse,” you chastise. “You don’t even know him.”

“Neither do you,” he nearly spits. He realizes how loud he was getting before hiding his face behind a large hand. “Like I said, I ain’t doin’ this no more.”

He stands up and you watch as your heart sinks. He awkwardly readjusts his jeans as you advert your eyes, worried that seeing his arousal for you would stop you from thinking clearly.

“Look, you obviously have my number,” he mutters. “I thought I could change your mind.”

“My mind isn’t made up,” you protest. 

You oddly felt lonely. When did you start developing feelings for him? Was it just lust? Did you truly crave his companionship? Did you...miss him? He’s sacrificed so much for you already, it was hard to tell exactly when you began to enjoy his company.

But then, there was Hanzo. He rescued you from that dungeon. He never patronized you, though his advances were often spontaneous. He was hard to read, but that mystery drew you to him. He also had that sweet side that only came out when you two were alone.

As you look up, you can almost see the shadow of the orchid in the half-moonlight. It was dim and stared back at you almost hauntingly.

“Wait,” you stop him as he was inspecting your door to see if the coast was clear.

McCree looks over his shoulder at you. You take his hat from the foot of the bed with a sheepish smile.

“You forgot something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll explain more on my Tumblr, but here's the gist of it:  
> I'm writing more to this story. I have a whole page written down of it's storyline, but I'm writing it as a sequel. Reader does, in fact, go with McCree, but Hanzo will get a chance just like I did with Siren's Song.  
> That being said, I've rewritten Siren's Song's sequel, Hunted. I'm focusing on that for a while. I also just hit 100 Followers, so I'm taking requests and fulfilling those for a little bit. Thanks for all of the love and I'll see you all again very, very soon (´≖◞౪◟≖｀)


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